


The Nihalian Oasis

by kuillsins (EykielAfterDark)



Category: MapleStory
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Caning, Collars, Crossdressing, Crossdressing Kink, Forced Orgasm, Handcuffs, Incest, Leashes, Light BDSM, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Porn With Plot, Sensory Deprivation, Slight Violence, Spanking, Vibrators, Virginity, dubcon, noncon, pain play
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-27
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2018-01-13 23:22:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 57,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1244305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EykielAfterDark/pseuds/kuillsins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Contemporary Brothel AU, Freud/Eun / Freunwol)<br/>The Nihalian Oasis is well known for its range of hosts, the most famous one of all being a man who goes by the name 'Silver Moon'. They say he sells his body to whoever wants to buy it, gives up his soul for a night, does anything he can to pleasure the one who owns him, all for a golden coin — </p><p>Until the Silver Moon meets a man he cannot bear to defile.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The appropriate, more sensitive, triggers will be tagged at the beginning of eachh chapter.
> 
> First, I want to apologise — I wrote a significant portion of the fic before getting to know some of the characters here better. Most of the TNO staff are quite OOC. :'/ 
> 
> Second, I'd like to emphasize that I am in no way romanticizing any of the kinks / sexual activity / circumstances that are depicted in this fic. It'll only get darker here on in.
> 
> Lastly, I'm not sure if I will be finishing this fic; it morphed into a monster while I was brainstorming, so I opened up too many subplots and now I don't know what to do with it all haha.
> 
> That being sad, enjoy your stay at the Oasis, and as they say — may your thirst be sated and your needs be taken care of.

He was familiar with dirty work, practically brought up and reared to do it. What was he to do? No school wanted him, he had too many marks of wild gangs and street tribes, too many black records. Society cast him out, exiled him for his work, shunned the name Silver Moon and the assassinations, the poisons, the deaths that came along in its pale glow.

But even in the underbelly of the city, whatever demons and monsters it held, there was always space for one more outcast.

Redemption he found in a little back alley, a side door caked over in grime that read Employees Only. He paused to regard the throbbing music that filtered through the metal door before letting himself in. The knob gave, he strode in.

It was a backroom of some sort, boxes and crates stacked high to the ceiling, dingy metal frames supporting the teetering mass, and something impelled him to be generous, water his words, and say it looked like the backstage room of a mangy and flea-infested brothel.

Somewhere to his right, a door opened and light spilled into the room and illuminated him, a fox trapped in the headlights.

His hand slipped to the gun in his belt, cocking it before he had even brought it to eye level, but it might as well have been a twig in his hands with the way a woman strutted in, words pouring from her mouth.

‘Oh, just put that silly toy away already. You’re in here looking for something else, aren’t you?’

He opened his mouth.

‘Well they all are,’ the redhead groaned as she dug in a box at the back, and he narrowed his eyes as her painfully short skirt rode further up her pert ass, ‘Even if they say they aren’t. Now hurry up and come with me, if you’re looking for cash, we’ll give it in buckets. We’ve got so much to spare anyway, but they always want more, rabble that they are…’

The cash sounded good.

He needed it, a lot of it, in these city streets, where one needed to pay to take a shit on the roadside.

And besides, judging by the frills on the silk panties she just extracted, his body could not get any more tainted that it was.

Hilla was right on one account. The Nihalian Oasis was the perfect cover because nobody knew anybody, they all came and went and nobody sought out the Silver Moon, questioned him for the dull look in his eyes. Sure they asked about the scars on his shoulders and the tattoos on his back, and it was liberating that they cared more about the insides of his ass than the history that he had.

They once bought the Silver Moon for his skill. But now it seemed that the Silver Moon now illuminated a different part of a city, and sold his light for pleasure.

Everyone liked the moody and silent young man who loitered beside the jukebox. They all said he used to make the cutest sounds when he was fucked, said he looked just like a girl if they made him get on his knees and beg for cock, said he was good for nothing else than this.

Despite all that, the Silver Moon remained.

And the Nihalian Oasis blossomed under the spell of that ethereal light.

 

* * *

 

The Oasis is deserted for now and he enjoys the quiet hum of soft jazz as he sips on a glass of beer. It’s five thirty, the sun is still out and a tepid innocence always accompanies those rays. The selling of bodies, wild fucking and begging only comes after dark, when everything is hidden by a veil of darkness and the way the truth is marred just for a while.

He likes the calm far more than the wild shitstorm that will hit pretty soon, but what’s an employee to do?

To his surprise, the door opens and the first customer for the night appears, one hour before any of the real action starts. He watches this strange man out the corner of his eyes, angling his head so his fringe hides his gaze.

What an odd fellow. He’s in a crimson blazer snug around his shoulders, unbuttoned to reveal a sky blue tie on a white royal oxford that hangs comfortably around what he knows to be a lithe and well-toned frame. He traces the imaginary V shape along his midriff and lets himself have the guilty pleasure of imagining the treasure he’d find at the bottom of that valley.

And when he finally looks up to his face, it’s like looking into the face of Eros himself, a deity that is desire personified. Soft brown hair he would love to nuzzle into, the kindness and most soulful eyes he has ever seen, like hints of the midsummer sky he used to play under when he was naught but a boy. And a smile that warms a part of him that is so utterly cold that it hurts.

He does not want to fuck this perfect man.

How can vermin like him taint such a perfect body?

It only occurs to him that he’s staring when those ocean crystals focus on him and the smile grows so wide that the heady darkness in the musty room is illuminated by springtime sun.

He looks down.

A chair scrapes opposite him.

‘Hullo,’ says the gentlest voice he has ever heard to grace this brothel.

His knuckles tighten and he forces out a noncommittal noise in response.

‘Not very chatty, are you?’ The man chuckles, a thin cocktail glass in his slender fingers. A writer or a musician, he thinks, the way his fingers are so beautifully shaped. ‘Then again, it’s probably why you’re here way before opening hours.’

‘You’re already talking on my behalf,’ he says, willfully keeping his eyes trained on the hardwood table.

‘I suppose I am.’

His eyes flicker to the washed-out stain beside his glass. This is definitely the Nihalian Oasis, alright.

He watches the fingers tighten around the transparent stem and waits for them to lift the glass up before he snickers.

‘That’s a _Bleeding Dream_ and it tastes like piss.’

The man pauses with the drink midway to his mouth. ‘Hmm?’

He smirks, meeting those deep blue eyes as evenly as he can, his heart is pounding, why? ‘Your drink. It’s piss. Everything in this brothel is piss.’

He watches the man give the drink another glance before setting it down again. ‘I guess I have to thank you for the warning then.’

‘No need.’ He lowers his head and stares into his beer glass again.

‘At least let me know your name,’ he chuckles. ‘I’ll start, and you can trade me your name for mine. I’m Freud.’

‘Silver,’ he says, because that’s what everyone calls him and there’s no harm in that.

‘Nothing about you is silver,’ says Freud after a moment’s contemplation. ‘More like a dark, charcoal finish and eyes like a twilight sky.’

‘You a writer?’ he takes a swig of his beer. ‘Someone as good as you shouldn’t be in here.’

Freud chuckles. ‘And why not? Maybe I have a particular fetish for handsome men with charcoal hair and stunning sunset eyes.’

‘I don’t want to fuck you,’ he says flatly.

There is a flicker of surprise in his eyes. ‘And why not? Being the executive of a publishing company makes my wallet so heavy I don’t know what to do with it.’

Silver scoffs and spits out, as venomously as he can, ‘I don’t need your money.’

There’s a reason why he always carries a small pistol in his belt, under his shirt, because he knows when he says things like that, customers get upset and the alcohol doesn’t help. He’s never had to kill, though he has wounded before — but they all just say he’s playing hard to get, and buy him anyway, and Hilla takes him to the side and tells him they’d stay in line because she’d make them. Sure he doesn’t fear them, but he fears for their life when they choose violence when dealing with him.

But Freud merely smiles, a strange smile that looks almost contented, like he’s found what he’s looking for.

Silver grits his jaws and waits for him to pick up the conversation, but he does not.

In the stifling quiet that throbs more painfully than the lounge tunes, he growls, ‘What are you here for then?’

‘I was hoping to forget,’ murmurs Freud, and all of a sudden he sees a great wound in this man, finds that its something he wants to fix. ‘And some company might be nice.’

He studies the man, takes in his well-tailored clothes, his expensive silver pendant, carefully washed and styled hair, and wonders what a man like Freud can possibly want in a man like him.

Wordlessly he slides his half-full glass over. ‘This is the only thing that won’t give you the runs. It isn’t homemade.’

Freud takes the glass with a gentle smile that makes him want to die.

‘No need,’ he chuckles, picking it up and setting it gently back in front of him. ‘I’m happy watching you drink.’

Silver meets his eyes and drains the cup in a few unhurried swallows, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand when he’s done. Freud stands, thanks him for his time, and turns to leave.

The beer tastes like wine.

 

* * *

 

It is the first time Silver has wanted anything beyond a woundless night, a coat to keep him warm in the chill, or food to fill his belly.

It is the man named Freud, his Eros, his wanting.

That night every single man he fucks has soft brown hair and ocean eyes and a kind smile in his mind, and he chants the name under his breath like the prayer that will finally redeem his crooked soul. He howls it as he comes, that beautiful face the object of his glorious orgasms and he comes more than he has ever remembered.

He lies in bed beside the man-who-is-not-Freud with dazed eyes, imagining the gentle smile as the imaginary Freud whispers words only a writer can think of, feathers those beautiful fingers across his ribcage like he’s admiring an array of finely carved pencils, cup his chin upwards to plant a kiss on his dry lips.

It is a good night for the Oasis, but Silver is left in wanting.

Morning and afternoon crawl by and time finds him pacing in his quarters, frustrated and angry and confused. He chides himself for his affection, curses Freud’s name (but he doesn’t do it out loud, he cannot bear to defile the name like that), swears upon all manner of gods that he’d give anything for his wants to be fulfilled just this once, surely he deserves at least one wish in his miserable life so far.

He cannot see how a man as beautiful as Freud will ever fall in love with scum like him.

Yet come next evening he is back staring into the beer glass in his hand at his usual spot, focusing on his beer glass and trying his hardest not to look at the clock.

Time flies.

The Nihalian Oasis begins business.

The sky darkens, the music gets louder, and people start filing in.

And Hilla gives him his first patron for the night. The brothel is full of people, but they’re either clothed in leather or naked. He gets up, nods at the young man who looks his way, and silently follows him to the back.

He doesn’t spare a second glance at the door.

The man introduces himself as Alex. Silver studies his wild red hair and guesses that he cannot be older than twenty, but definitely, to buy Silver of all people, one needed to be well prepared. He is handsome and just two days ago he would be thankful to lie with a fit specimen, but today the thought of sex makes a part of him cringe.

Alex tells him to strip. He obliges, shaking out his long hair before slipping out of his black-and-white striped shirt and dropping it around his feet, stretching and flexing every part of his torso. Then he brushes his fingers down his chest, across his nipples, rubbing them erect before gently traveling down to the button of his jeans. He pries open the button with a painstaking slowness that has Alex groaning and he takes an even longer time with the zipper, before he finally slips out of his jeans, revealing his slender legs.

He turns, as he always has, to let Alex see his pert ass in his underwear.

‘Come here,’ Alex beckons, somewhat breathlessly, as he struggles to undo his belt.

He strides over and Alex wrenches his underwear down before he has him lie on the bed, pliant as he waits for the youth to slip out of his pants and straddle his chest. Alex is grinning shakily, his face flushed with the exhilaration, it’s probably his first time, what with the way he’s jerking himself with such awkward movements, and Silver actually pities the lad.

‘Will you let me suck your cock, sir?’ he asks meekly, wanting to make this horny little brat come and then leave.

Alex shudders and nods, and Silver cranes his neck upwards, opens his mouth just enough to look sweet, and Alex all but thrusts his cock into his lips. He begins thrusting in earnest, so uncoordinated and already so unhinged, and Silver scowls as he forces his throat to relax. He whines and moans like he loves it, like he’s drunk, like he’s delirious, and hears the weak little sounds that Alex makes as he takes his cock deeper and deeper, swirling his tongue tenderly around the bulbous head.

He hasn’t even taken the boy into his throat when he comes with a yelp, and Silver snorts with the sheer audacity of it. Truly his clientele comes from all spectrums, the rich and eager, or the rich and demanding. Perhaps it is just his bad luck tonight, for bad things never came alone.

Alex pulls out of his mouth and he laps at the flaccid length to clean it, groaning as he swallows. The boy starts stroking his cock again, that ungainly movement that has Silver cringing inside, what sin is he doing to his member?

He slips a finger into Silver’s ass, it is curling too quickly and his nail catches the soft skin over his prostate, making him yelp. Alex grins, thinking he enjoys it, and Silver twists to get away from the finger.

‘Not there —’

‘You just lie there and enjoy it, darling,’ he grins, ‘Listen to sir.’

‘ _Ahh!_ It hurts! Please don’t put your cock inside me, sir!’

It’s a trick he has learned over time — protesting often gets him what he wants even faster, and it works like a charm. Alex takes the bait and Silver thanks all the gods he knows that the inexperienced finger is gone and that he’s well fucked so he can take Alex’s slender cock inside him easily.

The semi-hard length is sliding in and he automatically clenches down, impaling himself to the hilt with a moan.

‘ _Ahh!_ Sir, please no —’

‘Shut up, you slut, and take me.’

Alex begins to rock in and out, his breath coming in horny and slutty gasps, and Silver moans and moans, feeling the friction inside him slowly but surely start to make him harden, and before long he’s writing in real but soulless pleasure as the cock inside him sends him higher and higher still.

‘That’s right, Silver… you like it don’t you, like the pain.’

The boy’s a sadomasochist. He should’ve hired someone else. Silver never cared much for it, but he doesn’t think the boy is capable of much either way. ‘I love the pain sir, please _ahh_ give me pain —’

He’s cut off by a real yell as Alex thrusts deep inside him, jamming roughly against his prostate and making him shiver. A few more thrusts and he feels another firm stroke before Alex is flush against his ass and letting out a shaky groan as he shoots his load. Silver continues to fuck him back, clenching hard as he slams himself onto his cock, clenching hard so the hardened mass prods against his prostate and he forces himself to come there and then, tightening impossibly around Alex before spewing a few weak drops of come.

Alex pulls out almost immediately, his eyes are dazed. ‘Haha… gave me the last… of your come… huh slut?’

‘Thank you sir,’ he whimpers in mock breathlessness, making his chest heave although it isn’t really an orgasm, it’s the kind he uses to get them off.

The boy looks at him with lidded eyes and has him kneel to help him dress. Come is running undignified down Silver's thighs as he pulls the undersized jeans back up his bony legs and does the zipper again.

Alex grabs his hair and yanks his head upwards.

‘Did you have a good time, Silver?’ he practically snickers, and the young nasal voice sends a flare of anger through him.

‘I did, sir,’ he mewls. ‘Thank you for letting me suck your cock —’

‘And?’

‘And for fucking me like a slut, sir.’

Alex shivers and releases his hair, letting him quietly dress him again before he flicks a gold coin his way and leaves, somewhat shakily.

Silver ignores the gold mark on the carpet and heads to the toilet, rinsing out his mouth, cleans his insides with a warm and quick enema. Then he returns, slips back into his clothes and pockets the coin. No point letting good money go to waste.

‘Silver?’ Hilla sticks her head around the door and doesn’t wait for his acknowledgement, ‘Your next customer is waiting for you in the room next door. He has the whole night with you.’

He nods to make her leave, arranging his hair back into something resembling neatness, straightens his collar, and folds his sleeves again before slipping into the other room.

The first thing he sees is red.

‘Hullo,’ says Freud when he opens the door. The man smiles, uncrosses his legs and gets up. ‘Sorry I’m late.’

‘You’re my customer?’

‘For the rest of the night,’ he nods.

Silver feels his lips twist back in a snarl. ‘I said I wasn’t going to fuck you, and I mean it.’

‘I know.’

‘And then?’

Freud gestures to the table, where an elaborate meal is waiting. ‘Have dinner with me then.’

‘Everything in this place tastes like shit,’ he says with a smirk, but crosses the room to the table anyway.

‘I inferred,’ laughs Freud, slipping into the chair opposite. ‘I cooked this.’

Silver regards the food with interest, his anger dulled but controllable for now.

‘A real homeboy, aren’t you,’ he smirks.

Freud gestures again, bidding him eat. He does.

‘I need something to do when I’m not too busy at work.’ Freud chuckles. ‘There’s a supermarket a block away and there’s a kitchenette, so why not?’

Silver snorts, amused. Time is not that cheap in this city, but Freud right now seems to be the richest man in the world.

Too soon he has finished the tender steak that Freud has placed before him, and is tucking into the mango pudding in its dainty cup. Throughout the meal Freud talks, and Silver learns that he’s the head of _Leafre_ , the company that screens and reviews academic journals of all kinds. He listens as Freud talks eagerly about this theory and that, as Freud describes how to cook the perfect steak with bouts of silky french, as Freud laments about having to personally teach new secretaries how to catalogue books using the Dewey Decimal Classification system.

He listens, and nods, not saying a word as Freud talks on his behalf, and is content to just listen.

The night wears on and still Freud talks, though shadows start to become evident under his eyes, and Silver wonders dimly if he has gotten proper sleep, but he doesn’t dare to interrupt — doesn’t want to interrupt — this trickling stream of conversation. Freud's eyes never grow tired, nor does his voice falter from lack of sleep, and the twinkle of excitement in the recesses of his eyes still remain as the hours pass. Silver drinks down every word that escape his mouth. He is not full enough.

Finally there is a knock on the door to signify that their time is up. Silver looks out at the window, at a sky that is beautifully golden and yet not as magnificent at the sky in Freud’s eyes, bites back his disappointment, and gets up.

‘Time flies, doesn’t it,’ Freud smiles, and Silver can’t tell if the softness in his eyes is of regret or fondness.

Silver nods.

‘Well, then.’ Freud gets up gracefully and straightens his shirt. ‘If fate be so kind, I will see you tomorrow evening.’

Silver nods again. His words make something flutter inside him, the _thing_ that is trying to escape from the ice of his soul.

‘I enjoyed myself very much, Silver.’ Freud murmurs as the two of them make their way to the main entrance. The infernal music has finally ceased and the floor is quiet, deathly still in the birdsong of the morning.

‘Good,’ replies Silver.

He opens the door for Freud and the man slips out, patting his blazer one last time to make sure it’s straight.

‘Thank you,’ Freud says gently. Silver swallows hard at the flicker of sorrow in his eyes.

He merely nods back, this time his throat cannot move.

For all the talking that Freud has done, Silver finds that he still doesn’t know a single thing about him.

Freud smiles, as brilliantly as the sun, and turns to go.

‘Don’t be late,’ Silver finds his voice to call out, but the wind and the rushing of cars along the main street drown out his words, and he isn’t sure if Freud hears.


	2. Chapter 2

The Oasis is quiet, filthy again from the night’s activities but at least it’s quiet. Silver sets the takeout breakfast on his table, pancakes and bacon so fatty that it isn’t bacon, covered with watery scrambled eggs. It’s dry on the inside, too salty on the outside, and it tastes like shit although it’s bought from the fast food joint three blocks away.

Silver eats. One must eat to live, and live he must, if he wants to see evening come by.

He jerks himself off in his room. Thoughts of Freud fill his mind as he sits against the foot of his bed, eyes closed, imagining, imagining. He doesn’t make Freud out to tease, Freud’s hand is gentle, slender, smooth around his cock, he shifts to hold himself that way, adjusting his fingers on every stroke. Tight on the up, loose on the down, as he tried to squeeze every thought of Freud out of his hardened shaft as precum and orgasm.

He spits on his fingers and spreads his legs, slipping a finger inside and then two, pumping them in and out, electric buzzes run up his spine as he scissors them gently on every thrust. He rubs them lightly over his prostate, imagines Freud’s hard and throbbing cock brushing against this spot over and over, tries to fit moans to Freud’s lips but he can’t imagine that calm and collected man making sounds of desire somehow.

He clenches on his fingers, whispering the name of the man he doesn’t want to fuck as he spills his load over his hand. He’s panting, sweaty, flushed, head still whirling with Freud, and he leans back against the bed frame, taking deep shaky breaths to calm himself. Slowly he pulls wet fingers from his fluttering ass and gets to his feet before heading to the bathroom for a shower.

He masturbates once more in the steamy water, getting off on thoughts of those hands rubbing up and down to massage soap into his skin.

When he is finally done and spent for the morning he gets dressed and heads downstairs. Cleaning is a tiring job and utterly disgusting, Hilla is far away, probably upstairs and counting the profits for the night. Silently he joins the other hosts in wiping down the tables and chairs, picking up forgotten underwear and pocketing any coins he sees.

‘Wheew! Did you see the tanned guy last night?’ Alpha is saying as he scrubs out a stain on the floor. His tousled blonde hair stands up awkwardly in an undignified bedhead.

Beta grins at him, a matching smile and a matching face, her long hair to his short. One might almost expect them to be siblings, but they aren’t, they just look so uncannily alike, and to cater to those with twin kinks, they took up similar nicknames. Nobody knows what their real names are.

‘Did I? Fuck, he was so hot. Wish I could’ve fucked him.’

‘Yeah?’ Alpha straightens, flips the rag over his shoulder and lights a cigarette, takes a heavy drag from it. ‘Tell that to Belle. He likes things rough, huh Belle?’

Belle giggles, ‘Oh stop it,’ but everyone in the room knows that Belle’s the roughest lady the Oasis has ever seen. Something to do with her love for feral animals or something.

‘There was another hottie last night, you know,’ Beta snickers, ‘Some guy in red. Booked Silver for the whole night. He fuck good?’

‘I didn’t fuck him,’ he replies, keeping his eyes down.

There’s an exasperated cry from all around. ‘Fuck you,’ Alpha growls, but it’s not unkind. ‘People come here and we whore ourselves out and you get paid for doing fucking nothing.’

‘Did you at least suck him though,’ gasps Beta. She wrings her hands. ‘No? God damn you, Silver. I’d get down on him any time, no questions asked.’

Silver straightens and starts arranging the chairs. ‘You already have the tanned guy.’

‘He’s fucked up, that Hawkeye.’ Belle snickers, conversation completely derailed. ‘He’s a dom through and through, got me tied up and begging to come before the first thirty minutes. Good ropework, like a sailor.'

'Beta would love to take him.' Alpha coos. ‘Does he cuss like one too?’

Belle grins. 'Words so foul I wouldn't repeat them.'

Beta inhales deeply. 'Fuuuuck.'

‘Dirty, dirty Beta. _We_ can swear and talk down to you until you get your hands on him,' smirks Alpha. 

'Fuck off, Alpha.'

The chairs are done and he heads over to the bar, grabbing a broom. The idle chatter fades into the background.

‘So,’ Lotus, the Oasis’s most feared dom, smiles at him over the counter. ‘This Freud fellow. How is he? Didn’t know you’d be the kind to wait for someone.’

He shrugs.

‘If you’re not fucking him then what are you doing with him all night, I wonder…’ Lotus finishes wiping the glasses and sets them aside.

‘Enough to warrant the pay,’ Silver shoots back.

There’s a cute chuckle coming from behind the bar and Silver raises an eyebrow.

A girl's voice chirps, ‘I hate liquor stains, okay? And someone dropped a glass here. Lotus make him stop judging me.’

Lotus smiles and shrugs. ‘Well, you heard her. Stop judging.’

Silver stares at him.

Lotus rolls his eyes. ‘She’s not sucking me off under there! Gods —' 

He's cut off by a moan.

‘Judge Lotus if you must, don’t judge me,’ mumbles Orchid, around what is definitely Lotus, as Lotus looks down with a grin. Orchid’s the best sub, and she’s definitely doing it right given the way Lotus is looking at her so intently.

Silver snorts and hurriedly sweeps the floor clean of peanut shells and forgotten condom wrappers and escapes out the brothel just as Alpha topples the ashtray onto the floor. Not his problem now.

He breathes into the frigid spring air, a soft brown scarf around his neck keeping him warm, and heads to the park. The anonymity of the streets calms him, he is not the Silver Moon here, and in the bustle of people he is just another face in the crowd and he is forgotten, at least for now.

Birdsong cheers him slightly as he takes a seat on a park bench beside the lake. Ducks and pigeons flock to him and he lets out a soft chuckle before pulling out the loaf of bread he buys every morning. He tears up the slice into pieces and scatters them in the water, around his feet, and smiles at the flapping of wings as they scramble for the food.

The loaf of bread is half gone, one of the slices having disappeared into his own mouth, when he hears a voice.

‘Good morning, Silver. Fancy seeing you here.’

He turns around and his fingers tighten around the loaf of bread that he warps it out of shape.

The soreness of his cock between his legs makes him feel guilty. Freud sits down beside him, in that dark red blazer and horrendous blue tie, and smiles.

‘I didn’t know you were the one who fed them.’

Silver forces his hands to move, to continue throwing the flattened pieces at the birds. ‘Late for work?’

‘I just bought myself some coffee.’ Freud lifts the paper cup in his hands to let him see.

‘Coffee tastes like shit.’

Freud is surprised and chuckles to show it. The sound warms his guts like the first sun of spring.

‘You’ve just been buying from the wrong places, Silver. This one’s pretty good.’

He blinks at the cup that appears in his field of vision.

‘Here. Try it.’

His eye twitches but he accepts the cup and takes a slow sip. A bittersweet aroma coats his tongue, flows down his throat, the comfortable warmth settling in his stomach and leaving behind a quiet, sweet taste.

‘Good, huh?’ Freud grins.

Silver returns the cup with a nod.

‘It’s from one of my favorite cafes just a few blocks from here, the _Lumiere_.’

Fancy. Obviously, Silver hasn’t been there.

Freud watches him and chuckles at the birds as he feeds them the last of the bread. Silver crumples the transparent bag in his hands.

‘So, will I see you this evening?’

Freud blinks, momentary surprise flickering across his usually calm features before they soften into a smile.

‘Unfortunately not, Silver. I'm meeting a client and I absolutely have to be there. We’ll be working on a new manuscript through the night.’

Silver doesn’t realise he’s been waiting for an answer until he doesn’t get the one he wants to hear.

‘You can’t run on coffee alone,’ he says instead.

Freud laughs. ‘I’ll remember that. Thank you for your concern.’

‘Also, that tie looks bad on you.’

‘What, this?’ Freud looks down at his sky blue tie. ‘Ah, it was given to me by a dear friend. I’ve worn it for a long time.’

‘Get a darker shade. Like your eyes.’

Freud turns to him, surprised again.

‘Fuck,’ growls Silver.

The man chuckles, an amused twinkle in his eyes. ‘I’ll go shopping when I can, then. Take care, Silver.’

He can only nod, blushing too deeply to meet his eyes. He doesn’t watch him go. Freud makes it so hard to breathe.

 

* * *

 

 

He lies down on his bed and is out like a light, he’s tired from the night before but hasn’t realised it until just. Hilla wakes him when an hour before shifts begin, chasing him out the brothel to eat dinner, and Silver eats because he wants to last until the next evening when Freud will swing by.

The food tastes like shit, as always.

His first customer for the day is a sullen man called Eckhart. The raven haired man has been here many times and he always, always without fail, chooses Silver.

They retreat to one of the rooms.

Silver’s heart beats in anticipation as he follows behind the pale, slender figure. Eckhart is a strict dom, never cruel but very demanding. He says that Silver is the only one who can meet his expectations, as he has never really cared for girls and he doesn’t like the spunk in Alpha.

‘Safe word?’ Eckhart glances over his shoulder at Silver as he fits the key to the door and opens it.

‘Moon.’

It’s the same safe word every time, but Eckhart always asks, and Silver always appreciates that.

Silver walks in and kneels in the middle of the room, his knees a shoulder-length apart, his hands clasping each other behind his back. The door shuts and locks behind him, and Silver cannot help but shudder in anticipation.

Today Eckhart has him strip before locking his wrists behind his back with leather cuffs. The man gently fists his hand in Silver’s charcoal locks and tugs him closer to the bed with firm pulls, and Silver shuffles forward on his knees, his scalp stinging. Eckhart holds him tight, wrenching his head back to look into his eyes, and Silver sees a feral glint in his jet black eyes as they rove over his naked body. He keeps his lips pressed together, swallowing hard when he hears a belt being unbuckled and a zipper being pulled down, and then Eckhart makes him look down at his half-erection.

Its large, but not the largest he’s seen… but Eckhart can make it the most powerful he’s felt. Silver knows the feeling of being dominated by it.

‘Lick.’

‘Yes, sir.’

He bends as far as the hand in his hair will let him and laps obediently at the shaft, keeping his lips and teeth away for Eckhart never said he could suck. He feels it harden at the dainty licks he’s giving, leaving warm saliva on the shaft and rubbing the flat of his tongue across the slit.

His mind’s eye turns the black pubic hair soft brown and it’s Freud’s hand in his hair and making him lick, over and over again as the cock slowly hardens, but the image flickers, he doesn’t see Freud to be the authoritative kind, nor the kind who likes using his status as a weapon.

The cock is soon hard and rigid, the skin white and pale, but it doesn’t smell as sweet as he expects. The hand is forcing his head down.

It is Eckhart’s voice, not Freud’s voice, that commands, ‘Into your throat. Don’t swallow.’

‘Yes sir.’

He shivers as he opens his mouth to let the cock in, will Freud taste as musky or feel as hard on his tongue? The flared head prods against the back of his throat and he relaxes his throat to let the length in. He wraps his tongue and lips around it, tilting his head slightly every so often to force the hardened shaft down his dry throat.

‘I didn’t say you could suck.’

The hand lands against his ass hard and he flinches, uses all his willpower not to bite down or make a sound, for Eckhart punishes his sub for speaking or making noise out of turn. The pain is a dull but pleasing throb, not too hard to bruise but sharp enough to sting for a few minutes more.

‘Take all of me. You’re not done yet.’

Silver breathes deeply through his nose. He’s too far away to take Eckhart to the hilt without leaning forward, but the man’s shoes are pressing against his knees, making him unable to move forward even if he wants to. He breathes again before leaning his entire weight forward on his knees, teetering so far forward that his center of gravity shifts and has his head impaled on Eckhart’s cock, his hands useless and bound behind him. He’s supported by three points now: his two knees and the cock filling his throat.

‘Good.’ The fist in his hand tightens and tries to pull him off, but it’s a test, and Silver knows, and he strains to keep his head there for Eckhart has not told him to pull up yet. He feels the tension on his scalp increasing, straining and burning until the hand in his hair suddenly lets go and he’s sent pressing against Eckhart’s crotch. He holds him there until he stops struggling, nothing but his pale skin in his field of vision, and slowly starts breathing out through his nose.

‘Stay.’

Silver shudders, feeling his neck start to ache from the awkward position.

Then Eckhart puts something flat and hard on his head. ‘Hold still and don’t swallow.’

He raps it with his knuckles and Silver hears the hollow empty thump. It’s a book. With a sickening jolt to his stomach he remembers that Eckhart’s an accountant, that’s why he can afford Silver’s fee, that’s why he has to do long and tedious calculations in his notebook.

Sure enough, he hears the clicking of a pen before the book on his head grows heavier and he realises that Eckhart has begun to write.

He lets his eyes slide shut, feels his breaths grow deeper at the thought that he is just there, between Eckhart’s legs, with his cock deep in his throat. There’s only just the barest amount of bondage on him but he still can’t move at all, no, doesn’t dare move for fear of upsetting the book that Eckhart is writing on, or even worse sending the nib of his ballpoint shooting across the page and cancelling the entire thing —

He lets out a grunt of surprise as Eckhart thrusts up into his throat with force, making his eyes water slightly. His breathing increases further as Eckhart hardens in his throat even more. A bead of saliva is beginning to form at the corner of his mouth, he can’t swallow it or lick his lips because Eckhart hasn’t given him permission to, and he just feels the wetness gathering between the foreskin and his lips until it can stay no more and starts trickling down his chin.

The pressure on his head increases again, Eckhart is writing again, Silver breathes deeply to try to calm his nerves and the aching between his legs. Time crawls by, and Silver only has the soft flipping of pages to tell him that time is still passing, his heartbeat is throbbing in time to that in his cock, and he’s sure he can feel a tiny bead of precome gathering at the tip of his erection.

The hard tip of the shoe against his knee shifts and moves away. He hears a click as the shoe lands on the floor, and it definitely sounds hollow.

Then fabric is tickling the engorged head of his cock, making him jump in surprise, but the cock in his throat holds him in place. He tries to look down with his eyes but he can’t, all he can see is skin. The touch curls around his shaft, stroking up and down agonizingly slowly, the fabric tickling him and yet giving him far too much friction on a spot which is far too small. It’s Eckhart’s foot, he realises. His breaths come shallower and more erratic as the toes rub along his shaft, travel to the head and prods the eye and he feels the sock there slowly grow damper.

He almost swallows, his throat flutters when the toes move down to the base of the shaft and prod him there. Eckhart is still writing, he’s on the verge of moving but he doesn’t want to, yet he’s aching to move and to thrust into the friction, or to just start bobbing up and down and fuck his face on that deliciously hard length inside his throat. He needs movement, the feathery touches testing every ounce of his willpower as he fights the urge to get release off the foot rubbing against him.

The foot draws away for a while and he almost lets out a real whine from the loss of that sweet patch of friction. Then something soft hooks against his fingers.

‘Help me pull off my sock. You want my foot, don’t you.’

Silver immediately tightens his fingers around the hem of the sock, holding so hard like his life depends on it and Eckhart gently tugs his foot free. Eckhart has to tug a couple of times, his raised leg making the angle awkward for him while his head is still pressed flush against his crotch, but somehow he holds gamely on and manages to not swallow or suck or let his lips touch the shaft.

The toes wrap around his cock and he shivers, as they curl around him, not completely but enough to give him friction. The rough calluses on his knuckle and the few strands of coarse hair there rub against him, the feelings amplified over by the sensitivity of his shaft. He’s on the verge of giving up, almost starts thrusting and tries his very best not to move but he needs to come so badly, it’s all electricity down his spine and a coiling lump in his gut that just winds tighter and tighter and tighter still.

The first wave of pleasure hits him like a tidal wave, sending tremors through his body and he recognises the warning signs of orgasm. He clenches down as hard as he can to grit back the need to come, and by sheer willpower holds back and quashes his much needed climax.

He lets out a shaky and despaired groan around Eckhart’s dick, the first sound he has made for the night.

Immediately Eckhart removes the book from his head and runs fingers through his hair and Silver melts under his touch, wanting so much more than just the silent praise that Eckhart is so strict with. He doesn’t make a sound as the toes move up along his shaft and prod clumsily against the flared head before Eckhart finally tightens his hand in his hair and slowly pulls him off his cock, careful that Silver doesn’t choke with the sudden movement.

It keeps moving, rubbing against his muscles and he’s dying to swallow, but he holds himself perfectly still and doesn’t swallow or close his mouth although he’s drooling freely now, his chin all slick with his saliva. His eyes water again, and he has to fight his gag reflex as the head finally pulls free of his throat and are suddenly replaced by fingers.

‘You may swallow. Now suck my fingers.’

He closes his mouth and fastens his lips tight around those fingers, tasting a hint of ink on the fourth knuckle but still he licks and then he swallows at long, long last. His throat is too dry and the movement has him choking, but he just sucks harder on those fingers, lapping as he gathers his saliva and swallows it all to lubricate his throat again.

Eckhart pulls his fingers free when he finally stops dry-coughing around his fingers. Silver laps at the fingers as they pull away, coating them in saliva. Fingers are fastened around his hair again and he’s led up onto the bed, his knees are sore but still Eckhart makes him kneel and then double over so his cheek is pressed against the sheets, his ass raised high in the air for Eckhart’s taking. He can’t see Eckhart from here, but then again he doesn’t need to.

A finger slides inside him and then another, pumping quickly in and out and making him shudder, hitting him everywhere but just not on his prostate. He knows better than to lean back and simply lies there, breathing hard on every thrust. Eckhart stretches him efficiently, quickly, but he’s just making sure that Silver won’t get hurt, caring for his favorite fucktoy.

‘I want to hear how much you want me.’

He moans loudly, desperately, for the second time that night. To finally be able to make all the whorish little sounds he wants is pleasure just as glorious as the thick hardness of Eckhart’s cock. The entire throbbing length is inside him, sliding smoothly in and out at the perfect angle and hitting his prostate each time, making him shudder and moan and moan. Silver had never known how noisy he was until Eckhart took him for a night and amplified the difference between silence and his desire.

Eckhart likes it. Silver knows from the way he suddenly leans over him, presses down his neck firmly against the sheets to support his weight as he rams heavily into the tight muscles of his ass over and over again. Silver keeps his mouth open the entire time and lets the movement force out noises from his throat on every thrust. He clenches slightly on the hard shaft inside him to increase the friction more, gods he needs it but he can’t come until Eckhart lets him.

The world fades and its only Eckhart’s cock, sliding in and out of him, sending him higher into his pleasure, the friction, the heat building inside his core. He clenches harder and harder, shuddering as Eckhart slams more fiercely into him, grunting and exhaling all over his trembling form.

His vision blurs and their moans become indistinguishable in the giddy waves of pleasure. He feels Eckhart’s hand slip down to his cock, grasping it firmly and beginning to stroke, and Silver almost swears. He wants it but he cannot have it, his orgasm, even if Eckhart is the one pleasuring him so, where is the command, where is the permission to come?

The grip on his hand tightens another notch and he howls from the intensity of the sensation, shuddering and giving in to his desires and writhing for all he can. He bites back his second orgasm only just barely, and the precome trickling down afresh onto the sheets is the only indication that he had hit the edge another time that night.

‘Come.’

In his strained consciousness, something shifts. It is not Eckhart who is telling him to come, but Freud, he can imagine those lips tracing the simple word that is everything he needs right now, and more.

Freud’s cock slams into him so hard it jolts him forward against the sheets, pressing up against his prostate and sending shivers through him from the contact and then again when heat coats his insides. It’s Freud’s come, holy and sanctified, cleansing his dirty, well-fucked, abused insides, making him feel almost like a new man, it’s to Freud’s beautiful face and smile that he finally climaxes, spurts his load twice over the sheets, squeezes tears out his eyes from the intensity of the force that makes his head reel.

He lies there, pliant and limp and boneless, breathing hard, eyes closed. Freud groans softly, runs fingers through his hair, such a gentle touch that it almost makes him whine. Freud strokes his thumb across his cheek, just under his long and dark lashes, and dabs tenderly at the wetness he finds there.

Freud slides out of him slowly and he clenches slightly, trying to keep him inside so Freud can fill him, continue filling him.

But Freud pulls away completely, leaving his entrance clenching weakly in the cold.

Freud unties his hands and lowers him gently to the bed. He feels Freud ruffle his hair one more time before he doesn’t feel anything any more.

The golden mark clinks against the glass table near the door, and he opens his eyes, alone.

 

* * *

  

He pulls himself to his feet a long while later. The hour’s not yet up. He stumbles wearily over to the bathroom and quickly slips under the shower, shivering in the cold water that runs across his skin. He relishes the discomfort, it’s his way of atoning, for defiling that perfect man who is too perfect for his dreams. Again he rinses his insides out with an enema, biting back any grunts from the cold that invades him, before stepping out, drying himself off and getting dressed.

He’s tired.

He pockets the gold coin and changes the sheets, folding it neatly to hide the large stain of come, and tucks it under his arm. Music hits him as soon as he opens the door, the low baritones of smooth and sexy jazz echoing in his belly. He puts the sheets in the back room, to join the already-large pile that smells absolutely foul.

Then he spends his gold mark on overpriced beer and retreats to his table beside the jukebox.

He doesn’t drink, he just holds the handle of the heavy beer glass and feels coldness seep into his skin, and stares at the washed out stain at the side of the table that reminds him that he’s still in the Nihalian Oasis.

The door slams open with so much force that the _bang_ can be heard over the heavy bass and it elicits a shout of rage from disturbed patrons.

Silver looks up as someone stumbles across the brothel, making straight for him and ignoring everyone in the way.

The man’s chest is heaving, he’s perspiring and in a haggard mess and he looks like he just ran three blocks. There’s a wild desperation in his eyes and his cheeks are tinged with red, and Silver feels more than sees the raw despair in those ocean blue eyes.

He stands to meet the man in the blood red blazer.

‘Please fuck me,’ he raises his voice to be heard over the music and the shouting.

Freud’s eyes soften slightly but the wild edge still remains, and he all but throws a couple of bills on the counter before dragging Silver down the corridors and into the first door that is unlocked.

Freud swings the door shut as he gestures for Silver to strip. He does, choosing to meet Freud’s deep and sorrowful eyes rather than looking over his body as he drops his clothes in a messy pile at the foot of the bed. Then he hurriedly lies in bed and props his legs up on the bed, eyes locked on Freud’s, never leaving his face as Freud tears away the sky blue tie, drops the blood red blazer on the ground, wrenches his shirt and black dress pants away, slips out of his briefs.

He arches his hips forward for Freud to take him. He wants Freud, not his fingers, is so desperate that he doesn’t want to prepare himself, but it’s not like he needs to, he’s too well used to need it anyway.

Freud grips his knee and climbs on the bed. Silver exhales, giddy with quiet anticipation, he has learned not to want too badly, he may not get what he wants, but damn he wants Freud inside him, and nothing can quell his desire.

To his surprise Freud straightens before straddling his hips, grasping Silver’s sensitive half-erection lightly and guiding it to his entrance.

Silver has had his dick used before, he’s topped his fair share of times, and some doms do prefer taking it up their ass. But Freud is nothing compared to them all. Freud’s insides are hot, perfectly tight, and Freud knows to rock his hips as he slides down, seeking the perfect angle. Freud supports himself with a hand behind him, leaning against his knee as he sets a vicious pace that has Silver’s eyes watering within thrusts.

Freud’s tightness throbbing and pulsing fiercely around his shaft, making him moan from sensitivity and the sheer pleasure from it. These wanton sounds are falling from his lips freely now, he’s so relieved to make them, relieved to watch Freud and his brow furrowed in pleasure as he pistons himself, impales himself on Silver’s dick.

Freud’s eyes are closed, he’s gasping for breath soundlessly as he throbs around Silver, encasing him in that fierce warmth and dispelling all other thoughts. Freud, that beautiful man, drunk on the euphoria that is Silver’s dick, makes him whimper from the sheer impossibility of the situation, makes him want to weep.

Then through the delirious haze that settles across his mind, he recognises Freud’s expression when he’s concentrating to recall a complicated theory or a strange fact.

Silver feels his erection falter slightly and he bites back his groans, bringing his hand to his mouth and fastening his teeth around the wrist. Every time a sound wants to come out he bites down harder, hushing his breathing in the silence of the room where there’s only the sound of Freud’s ass connecting with his crotch.

Freud opens glazed eyes after a few thrusts, sees Silver with his wrist in his mouth, and smiles shakily.

‘Thank you,’ he gasps.

The contortion of his face fades and the frown eases away, leaving behind a face untainted from sorrow, the face of someone drowning in pleasure. Silver feels Freud grind against him, leaning backwards a little more so his dick prods against his prostate, making him shiver in pleasure as he slides up and down, the friction slowly but surely making Silver harden again, forcing him up another sheer cliff where orgasm waits.

Freud tightens, tightens around him, and Silver’s teeth tighten around his wrist, he revels in the pain and the mix sends a strange ecstasy through him nonetheless. He can feel Freud’s precome pooling on his midriff, a few drops at first, but soon increasing to a trickle, a strand, and he knows his own precome is slicking Freud’s walls and insides.

The friction increases as Freud suddenly breaks the rhythm, jerking himself up and down erratically on Silver’s dick. He bites down so hard that he very nearly shouts out from the pain but manages to strangle it down to a hoarse breath in his throat. He thrusts back, meeting Freud halfway, and the man’s face relaxes just a notch further as the pleasure increases, as Freud is fucked by whoever he’s imagining is fucking him right now.

Silver pretends that Freud isn’t pretending. He just wants to be close to him, even if it’s in quick and meaningless sex that breaks him more than any of his other deeds. He jerks his hips up faster into Freud’s tight heat, feeling the tight ring of Freud’s muscles pulse around him, trying to thrust so hard that he sends himself over the edge.

Freud shudders and grinds down hard against him. Freud comes without a sound, all over Silver’s midriff and torso, his jaws gritted and eyes squeezed shut. The intense pressure around Silver’s dick makes him shudder and tense and climax inside the beautiful man, his come spurting into those fluttering muscles. Still he thrusts into Freud, trying to give him as much pleasure as he can before the deed is done, stimulating Freud through his orgasm and making him release just a little more come.

Spent, he falls back against the bed, chest heaving, blood running down his arm and into his mouth.

He closes his eyes.

Freud pulls himself off, leaving his dick flaccid against his crotch in the chill of midnight air. Silver listens to the rustle of clothes over his hard breathing, hears a zip being fastened, cloth rubbing against cloth — that red blazer —

And he hears a coin pressed to the glass table.

If Silver could, he’d use that mark to buy a space in Freud’s mind, just for the night, just for the hour.

But he can never afford such a perfect man.


	3. Chapter 3

Ten minutes before the hour is up Silver peels himself from the bed and heads over to the bathroom. He takes a hot shower, so hot that it smarts. He cleans his wound, it’s not too deep but its deep enough to need bandages and he can’t let it heal on its own. Then he turns the temperature up even more before scrubbing the soap viciously into his skin.

Carefully, he cleans away the come from around his dick, making sure to get in between the foreskin, around the base of his dick and under his balls. He angles himself and then washes the crack of his ass, runs his fingers along his hips, rubbing at any of the dried come he missed there.

It is the first time he feels this dirty.

He knows the grime won’t come off his soul and no amount of scrubbing can clean him on the inside but he does it anyway.

He soaps himself one more time before he leans against the slimy wall of the bathroom, breathing deeply. Then he dries and changes.

Silver uses his gold coin to buy the last hour of the night for himself and slips out the putrid noise and heat of the brothel, escaping into the chill. He burrows into his brown scarf, holding his wounded wrist to him like its his life, trudging down the deserted sidewalk to a convenience store two blocks away.

The roads are blackened, the pavement cracked and full of potholes. Rubbish lines the street, broken furniture and empty takeout boxes lying against buildings where people left them or moved them out of the way of cars. There’s movement everywhere in the corner of his eyes, rats that scurry about in the trash, scrabbling to find life in a polluted city, vermin perhaps more well-off than he.

The Kerning City convenience store is a rickety old place lit with pallid fluorescent lamps. He pushes the door open, slips around the aisles and grabs a roll of bandage. He doesn’t bother with antiseptic because he knows he can’t afford it.

‘Good to see you back, Silver,’ greets the shopkeeper, a thin mousey figure they all call Hwang, as he comes up to the counter. Nobody knows where he gets his wares, or why he always sells them so much cheaper than in the better districts. But nobody asks.

He nods in greeting before setting the bandage down. Then he pulls a silver mark from the already-light pouch around his waist and places it on the counter.

Hwang looks at the silver coin and laughs. ‘One silver? Nono, now is two silver. Things more expensive now.’

Silver raises an eyebrow. ‘One month ago you charged five coppers for this.’

‘Hwang know, Hwang know, but Hwang sorry.’ He sighs and smoothes out his wiry moustache. ‘Supplier very greedy, but Hwang already cut prices so low that he only earn little profit!’

What can he do? Kerning City’s market was never kind to the poor. Hwang might change his prices every once in a while, but thankfully the stuff he sells is reliable, and safe. Silver trusts the man over the other vendors who sell things for a single copper.

‘Twenty coppers for a roll of bandage,’ Silver mutters in defeat as he drops another coin on the counter.

‘Sorry, Silver. Hwang has to eat.’ The man looks genuinely despaired as he picks up the second mark, but then again he’s a shopkeeper, they all look like that.

‘I know.’

He leaves and loiters on the sidewalk, tearing the plastic open with his teeth and unrolling the fabric. Deftly, and with skill borne out of practice, he wraps the drying wound with his left hand, bringing it to his mouth so he can hold one end of the fabric in his teeth to secure it in a knot.

From here, he can see the gleaming skyscrapers of New Leaf City, separated by a single canal, all glass and sleek shiny surfaces that stand proud, the tiny glimmering lights like artificial stars.

He spends a few minutes wondering why Freud would even step foot into the rot of Kerning City, and wonders if there is truly nothing for him where he is now.

  

* * *

 

He waits at his table, a mug of beer in hand, but he knows that what he waits for will only come in the last few hours of the night. The jazz turns up louder as the sun fades away, and more people start filling the place, he doesn’t look up until Hilla calls his name.

Hilla is having a heated conversation with a man in a white suit. The hem of his shirt is trimmed with fine gold.

‘L, I promise, Silver will be able to handle you.’

‘He’s new, isn’t he? I don’t want some ameteur like the last time when you gave me Alpha. He wouldn’t take it up the ass.’

‘He just doesn’t know what’s good for him,’ purrs Hilla, stroking dainty fingers along his white dress shirt. But she knows better, Alpha just has dignity he wants to keep. ‘You haven’t been here a while. Silver’s our best employee.’

The man called L turns, and Silver greets him with a curt nod.

L says, ‘Come here.’

He walks over to the slender man who, at first glance, is so pale he mightn’t have ever seen the light of the sun. His hair is snowy but his eyes are strange, off-colored, one deepest crimson and the other icy blue. The odd gaze sends a shiver through him.

He can’t tell if its fear or lust in the man’s eyes.

‘Present yourself,’ L says, with a rasp in his voice that wasn’t there before.

Silver glances at Hilla for permission to strip in a public area, and when she nods, he straightens so L can see all of him. L seems to be a dom who likes his subs obedient and able to take cock inside them, so he moves more gently, like a girl who’s shy and slightly unwilling and yet in wanting. He averts his eyes as he brings his hand to his buttons, slowly undoes them one at a time and shrugs out of his shirt.

Whistles and calls of _that’s right, slut!_ echo over the thrumming music, but he continues, flexing his body and arching out his chest, presenting his nipples to the silent man who’s gaze is icy cold.

L reaches out to fondle his left nipple and he gasps sweetly, arching into his hand and he’s rewarded with a glint in the man’s unmatched eyes. The brothel seems to quieten to hear his little moans as L raises his other hand to his pants and undoes the button. Silver decides to play the hungry slut and thrusts lightly against his hand, earning a hiss of breath from the snowy-haired man.

L wrenches down his jeans to reveal his white briefs and a slowly growing bulge between his legs. And when the man smiles, Silver shivers at the danger in his eyes, the way they seem to be plotting something.

‘I’ll take him, Hilla.’

‘I’ll bring you to your —’

L ignores her and grabs Silver’s wrist, dragging him roughly to the center of the brothel to one of the tables and pushes him down. Amid catcalls, Silver realises for the first time that the height of the table is perfect, his chest is flat against the table but its just a little lower so his ass sticks out in the air.

‘Sweet little thing,’ purrs L, running his hands down his back. The man goads him forward by light smacks across his ass and he obliges, moving until his legs meet the table and his head is dangling off the other side.

Silver stays still, gripping the table tightly with his hands and wonders what this dangerous man will do to him.

‘Shit, shit, _shit_ ,’ he hears L’s voice as he comes up in front of him, laced with fear, ‘You shouldn’t have chosen this place, it’s so public and everyone’s watching… but fuck you’re so hot and sweet.’

Silver can’t help but shudder at the lust in his last few words that seemed to appear out of nowhere. L slips a hand into his hair and slides his other hand to undo his pants and briefs, offering his cock for Silver to suck.

He kisses the tip tenderly before taking it into his mouth, not expecting L to thrust in roughly to the back of his throat at one go and the man doesn’t let the pressure up even though Silver struggles and gags, tears coming to his eyes. Frantically trying to choke back his gag reflex, he forces his throat to stretch and L simply slides in all the way.

‘Shit, shit, I’m sorry,’ whispers L, terror in his voice though his hand is still gripping his hair so hard that it makes his head pound, ‘This is a bad idea…’

Silver works his throat muscles furiously, trying to get accustomed to his girth before this strange man and his mix of contrasting emotions fucks his mouth, but L suddenly pulls his entire cock out of his throat and makes him grunt in surprise. He coughs and hacks, dry-heaving and trying to blink back tears even as L’s hand holds him there, the grip tightening and making him yelp in real pain.

‘What’d you do that for?’ L snarls.

What kind of question is that?

Silver is about to reply when L whispers, ‘Fuck, I don’t know, I can’t think with so many people around, we shouldn’t even be here!’

This man is out of his mind. There are two of him, one a terrifying dom and the other a terrified teenaged boy who’d probably cry getting his first blowjob.

‘You just shut up and enjoy it. You liked him showing off his nipples didn’t you.’ The cock is shoved into his throat again and the hand in his hair shoves him in place. ‘Always acting so high and mighty.’

Silver lets out a grunt, tears in his eyes again as the shaft invades his throat, it’s so painfully hard that its difficult to swallow around it. Desperately, he tenses his midriff and clenches his fists, inhaling fiercely through his nose to stop from gagging as the cock starts moving in and out at a rapid pace. He laps at the shaft, sliding his eyes closed and coating in warm saliva, tasting L’s bitter precome staining his mouth.

‘Oh. _Fuck_ , so good. Shut up, Sunfire just fucking _shut up_ and enjoy this.’

Sunfire. That must be the one who whines. Silver groans as the thick length slides in and out of his mouth, fucking his face with abandon, the hand in his hair making him unable to move, rendering him just a mouth to be taken for pleasure. He sucks hard on every stroke, wrapping his lips firmly around the shaft, swallowing hard every time it slides into his throat.

‘He doesn’t look like he’s enjoying it… fuck, he’s so good, you like it… oh for heaven’s sake, will you two _just stop shouting_ already!’

Silver’s eyes fly open as a third, exasperated tone slips into his speech. There’s the terrified one, the horny one, and the… he doesn’t know what this man is, and he shudders as he remembers that he is at the mercy of this man.

‘You two… just need to shut up for a while…’

L falls silent, as if listening to some haunting voice in his mind describing the kinkiest and dirtiest situations and getting turned on. Silver’s eyes widen as L begins thrusting more fiercely into his mouth, he just closes his eyes and focuses on sucking in deep breaths whenever L pulls out and relaxing all other times. The pace is too rapid for him to even swallow, his throat is getting drier while saliva pools in the bowl of his mouth, he just lies there pliant and as L pounds into his throat and makes precome and drool trickle from his lips.

‘ _Fuck_ , Eclipse —’

L shudders and all but wrenches Silver’s head forward to meet his crotch as he presses up inside him and Silver groans with the fierce action. He feels warmth flow down and starts swallowing fiercely, forcing his throat to move and he milks the man for all he’s worth, like the good little slut he knows L is turned on by.

The hand in his hair loosens after a while before L slowly slides his cock out of Silver’s throat. There’s a glass of water pressed to his lips and drinks gratefully, almost choking on his first sip. He’s slightly surprised by the consideration he receives, what after the way he was treated earlier.

‘I’m sorry for that,’ L murmurs, but Silver doesn’t know which L is talking, ‘The other sides of me tend to be more… unpredictable. Are you alright?’

The cup is pulled away from his lips and he lies there panting, unsure of what to reply, what L wants of him. Unpredictable is right. L is simply dangerous. He’s not like Alex, who can be lured into acting the way he wants, not like Eckhart who has reasonable control and L doesn’t even care that he can’t breathe.

But he sees concern in those mismatched eyes and he can’t be dishonest in the face of honesty.

‘I am.’ Silver sits up, still breathing hard. He doesn’t spare a second glance at the other patrons openly staring.

‘Good.’ L groans and sits down on a nearby chair. ‘Will you let me buy your services again someday, Silver?’

He contemplates and almost says no, but then L puts three gold coins on the table before him.

His eyes widen.

‘One for each of us,’ he smiles. ‘Since technically, you sucked all our cocks at once.’

 _Three_ coins for a single patron. This insanity has some good after all.

‘I will,’ he says. ‘Thanks.’

He needs the gold if he’s going to be spending time with Freud. And he can always fight L down if need be. Besides, what’s a little more pain?

L goes back to Hilla and the two start talking again as Silver dresses and picks up the coins. He goes back to his room and slips the three gold pieces into his little pouch, eyes softening just a little.

At least he can afford to have dinner with Freud for a while, even if its in this disgusting brothel.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It's a little past three in the morning when Freud comes by. He is calm and collected once more, no trace of the panic that lurked in his pupils last night. That beautiful smile hits him like a stone to the chest, it's the first and last thing he registers as Freud walks in the door.

'Hullo, Silver.'

Silver nods in greeting.

'Sorry I arrived so late,' he smiles, hooking a finger in his tie and loosening it. 'I was held up, one of my clients insisted on my looking through his manuscript.'

'No matter.'

'Have you had dinner?' Freud undoes the button of his shirt collar.

For a while he forgets to reply. Freud pulls off the self-contented businessman look so well that he's startled at how relaxed he can be with his tie slung loosely around his neck like that.

He forces himself to nod.

'Then have supper with me.' Freud holds up a plastic takeaway bag with two long sandwiches in them, finely wrapped with non-greasy paper.

He recognises the symbol of the _Lumiere_ , a stylised blue moon fit into a square, the same image printed on Freud's coffee cup.

Silver gestures and lets Freud pick one of the rooms. 'They're still open, at this time?'

'Of course not. I bought them during lunchtime.'

'Did you eat?' Silver shoots a look at the back of his head.

Freud chuckles, 'Well, to be honest, I was supposed to meet a friend of mine, but it got called off at the last minute. I just stayed in my office then.'

Silver feels a wave of concern, but he bites it down. Freud's life is, after all, not his.

They settle at the table. Silver accepts the sandwich with both hands, watching Freud unwrap the sandwich by pulling on a tab and popping a section of the paper open like a lid. To Freud's amusement, he only manages to break the tab and make a tear vertically instead of horizontally.

'Here, like this.' Freud's fingers brush his as he tries to work at the packaging around Silver's fingers.

His heart leaps. Freud's touch are electrifying, which is absurd because he's getting a crush like a little schoolgirl even though they've already fucked.

With a sigh, Freud pulls away. 'I'm afraid it's ruined. You'll have to --'

Silver has the sandwich separated from the offending paper in seconds.

Freud laughs, and Silver revels in the way it lights his sad eyes, lifts them, tweaks the corners. He wants to make this smile stay, this warm and genuine smile that is more delicious than any coffee.

'That works,' he grins. 'Well, let's eat then. Sorry it's a little stale.'

Silver busies himself with the bread. It's light and fluffy, so unlike the dense flat dough bricks they sell, and the first taste of ham between crunchy lettuce leaves has him salivating and hungry for more. They might be stale to Freud but they are heavenly to him.

He finishes the sandwich and sighs in contentment before realising that Freud was still halfway through his food, watching him with those soulful eyes and an unreadable expression there.

'How is it?'

'... Good. Thanks.'

He smiles then, making night turn into day, and Silver averts his gaze.

Freud is dangerous. For a moment Silver nearly smiled in reply.

He patiently waits for Freud to finish his sandwich and disposes of both their wrappers out back before he comes back with something in his hands.

Freud's eyes widen. 'Silver, I didn't mean --'

'Please,' he interrupts.

Freud glances at the bandage around his wrist guiltily before he relents and takes the leather instrument with open distaste.

Silver ignores Freud's discomfort and points at different parts as he strips. 'This goes around my head, this one between my eyes. I'll show you how to tighten it.'

Freud dumbly nods, helping him slip the harness over his head and hair as he opens his mouth to accept the black rubber ball. He taps the buckles that need tightening and Freud helps him, pulling the leather bands tight enough so the gag won't slip out of his mouth no matter how hard he pushes.

He nods and lies down in bed. To his slight embarrassment he's already half erect and his member stiffens even more as he listens to the sound of Freud undressing, effortlessly imagining those rippling muscles and his soft, porcelain skin.

He opens his eyes to little gasps as Freud slips his fingers in and out of his entrance. To see this god before him, preparing himself to be impaled and opened by his dick, sends a tremor through him. He inhales sharply as his beautifully slender fingers disappear into his entrance, hearing the wet slicking sounds of fingers being sucked into that tightness, moaning into the gag with abandon.

Freud’s eyes are half closed, gaze distant as other thoughts occupy his mind, but he is still so stunningly beautiful. His mouth his open in a sweet gasp as he slides two fingers in and out, his entrance gently pulsing around them. Silver moans as the man scissors his fingers inside himself, feeling his own ass throb slightly as he watches hungrily, desperately for this man. Freud adds another finger and Silver’s eyes drift downwards, watching his fingers get wetter and wetter and glisten in the light.

Dimly, he notices Freud screw back the cap of a bottle, it’s the lube from the bedside table and he shudders as he hears the sickening squelch of fluid pressed into an entrance, his dick already throbbing and leaking precome as he listens to Freud’s breathing slowly get heavier with every stroke.

Freud glances at his dick and his eyes widen in surprise.

‘So hard already?’ he whispers, smiling slightly.

Silver feels his face burn, he’s so guilty, how can he let this man see how hungry he is for him? He’s scum, the lowest of the low, he’s not even sure why Freud is choosing him of all people. Ashamed, he hurriedly wrenches his face away and flings his arm over his eyes.

He hears Freud chuckle softly before lightly grasping his dick. Immediately he whimpers into the gag, Freud feels far gentler than he imagined, his fingers more skilled than his own, Freud treats his dick with so much respect, rubbing one hand up and down softly like caressing a bar of gold. Freud feathers his grip across his shaft while the other fondles his balls, thumb running across the tightening mass. He trembles, dick throbbing hard, ready to shoot his load, as Freud gently slicks his length with lube and runs deft fingers up to the flared head, swiping across the slit to pick up the precome on his fingertip.

He cannot move. He cannot _let_ himself move. Letting himself move is adding to Freud’s already loaded plate. Mercenaries keep their emotions out of their jobs.

Whores don’t love the ones who buy their bodies.

Freud shifts and Silver feels his weight across his midriff, feels Freud’s hand grasp his dick again and guide it to his entrance. He feels warmth settle on the tip of his dick, that pulsing entrance slick with lube, and he moans into the gag. That addicting heat presses against him, strains as Freud’s entrance resists just a little, just enough before slipping around his throbbing head and encasing it in sheer mind-numbing pleasure.

Silver bites down hard on the gag as Freud slides down further, his entrance tightly caressing the shaft and sending a blizzard through him, making him breathe harder, fighting for breath through the tightness that envelops him. He wants to thrust up into that sweet tightness, for more of that friction and heat.

But something holds him back, he doesn’t want to push this perfect man and give him any amount of pain, he wants Freud to feel pleasure even if it’s not Silver’s dick he’s fucking himself on, but someone else’s cock.

Freud gently and slowly eases himself down on him, he hears the man’s gasps as his dick slowly presses up inside him. He’s so hard, he knows how it feels to take such a rigid member inside him on the first stroke. He knows the man is trying is trying to fill himself on the first thrust and his ass is protesting, throbbing gently but it only sends rippling waves of pleasure running along his shaft.

Silver breathes harder and moans as Freud’s ass finally meets his crotch, the heat and tightness all around him threatening to make him lose his control. He fists the sheets tightly, all but gnawing on the gag to bite back the urge to come, eyes flickering from Freud’s erection to the look of bliss on his face.

Then Freud begins to move. _Whoever Freud wants to fuck is a lucky man_ , Silver thinks dumbly as the friction increases tenfold, sending shivers through him. He presses himself against the bed, breathing hard through his nose as Freud rocks himself on his dick, pulling himself on and off his shaft with graceful strokes. The man is shifting awkwardly on every thrust, twisting his hips this way and that to find that sweet spot that will send him into pleasure.

Silver knows where it is, how can he forget? He props himself up on his elbows and angles his hips, giving a light thrust upwards. He earns himself a sweet gasp and the picture of Freud, melting into the sensation, and he sees as much as feels Freud’s pleasure as the muscles around him throb more fiercely than before. He holds that angle and Freud supports himself with a hand on Silver’s knee as he begins to piston himself up and down on his dick.

They’re both gasping into the silence of the night. Silver’s simply fighting to clear his head enough so he doesn’t slam upwards into Freud, the man’s hard breathing isn’t doing anything to his control, he’s hard and _needs it_ so badly. He locks his eyes on Freud, Freud’s closed eyes, Freud’s messy hair, Freud’s sweaty forehead, Freud’s face as he gives in to his dirty fantasies. He shudders on every stroke, Freud clenching firmly at all the right times, the rocking movement and friction making it sweeter still, drowning out his voice of reason.

Freud clenches tighter as he pulls up, and Silver can’t help but groan as the last semblance of control he has fades and he thrusts up into Freud to chase after his friction. He bites down hard on the gag as he arches his back, jerking his hips upwards and straight into Freud’s prostate. He sees tremors pass through this perfect man, sees him throw his head back as he fucks himself with abandon, and Silver watches, enraptured, the sight alone making him harden even more inside the heat of Freud’s ass.

Freud moves faster, Silver can feel the rhythm start to break, the strokes cutting in half. Freud grinds harder against him. He responds, thrusting more fiercely, Freud gasps louder, his breathing getting haggard. Freud clenches roughly against him, Silver writhes in the sheets, bites down and clenches so hard, tears are in his eyes, he cannot come yet, not until Freud has gotten enough. He feels the surge of orgasm recede slightly, thrusts more desperately into Freud, shudders as Freud shudders and clenches harder on him.

Silver almost keens through his nose as Freud finally gives in, his thrusts erratic and uncoordinated, slamming back down against him even before he is halfway out. He forces himself to keep his eyes open through the haze, to watch Freud unhinged and needy, increasing the strength in his thrusts, hitting Freud’s prostate dead on each time, makes the man clench so hard around him it brings tears to his eyes, he’s drowning in pleasure, in Freud.

Freud clenches viciously around him and tenses, letting out a soft exhalation of air as he tenses, throbs fiercely around Silver as he comes. Freud’s eyes are opened, glazed, a gorgeous sheen of pleasure clouding his eyes, mouth hanging open as he clenches again, releases another spurt all over Silver’s torso and cheek. Silver groans into the gag as a ribbon of heat lands across his face, holding on just a little more and thrusting still, stimulating Freud through his orgasm until the man can give no more, and then he lets himself climax.

He all but howls into the gag, his climax so fierce that tears leak from his eyes, the waves crest and wash over him so many times, fuelled by this beautiful man, he comes twice in Freud’s ass, shuddering hard each time he does. He’s pressed up against Freud, his dick firmly buried in his muscles and throbbing so hard it’s almost painful. He faintly feels remnants of come trickling out of Freud’s ass and down onto his crotch as he flops back against the bed, dazed and gasping for breath.

He feels Freud’s fingers along his face, wiping off the come, his fingers are trembling. Silver wants to nuzzle into them and kiss them but he doesn’t, he just lets Freud move up to his hair, undo the buckles and pull the straps away. The gag is finally pulled from his mouth, dribbling with saliva, and he works his jaw to get some sensation back in those muscles.

Freud is hovering above him, concern in his eyes. When Silver’s gaze focuses on him, his eyes soften, and slowly he pulls off, leaving Silver’s dick twitching in the cold.

He listens as Freud slips into the bathroom. He just lies there, blinking the last dregs of his orgasm away and basking in the soft fuzz that now occupies his mind.

It’s a comfortable bliss.

Freud comes out of the bathroom, washed and dried with a towel draped across his hair. Silver’s surprised that he’s disappointed to see him in a bathrobe. He clambers out of bed, finding his legs slightly shaky, and goes to take his turn.

He lets himself have a warm, soothing shower.

When he comes out, he sees Freud lying in bed, his eyes closed and breathing softly. Immediately he turns away and settles at the table a distance away.

He gazes out at the city, the blaring of horns still faintly audible at this ungodly hour, watching the streetlamps flicker and shifty figures slither in the murky darkness. He glances at his deity, peacefully sleeping, admiring his face free of worry, before sighing and getting up to tuck him in.

Freud doesn’t even stir, he’s so exhausted.

An odd feeling settles across him, like Freud is far away from home, and all he wants to do is curl up around him and reassure him that everything will be okay.

Freud reminds him of the time when he was running from bounty hunters, when the Silver Moon was still a threat to the mafia and the gangs that run the innards of the town. He knows how tiring it is to not have a place to rest. Silver returns to the table and stares out the window for the rest of the night.

Freud cannot love him, but maybe Silver can give him a place to rest his weary head, away from whatever horrors snap at his heels. And that will be the most of the love that Silver can ever give him.

 


	4. Chapter 4

For once, the air isn’t clogged with haze. Silver watches as soft light touches the horizon before spreading, a glow of lighter blue followed by crimson. The sun’s rays filter down and bathe the city in warmth, and the broken buildings actually have a chance of looking decent if he squints hard.

He heads for the bathroom to freshen up before gently tapping Freud’s shoulder.

‘Hey. It’s morning.’

Freud’s eyebrows furrow slightly before he opens his eyes. Silver watches the dazed flicker in his eyes as he passes from sleepiness to consciousness, followed by a spark of recognition as he remembers where he is.

He sits up and stifles a yawn. ‘Good morning,’ he mumbles, voice tinged with sleep.

Silver looks away and goes to sit at the table again. Freud stumbles over to the bathroom. It’s probably the first real sleep he’s gotten in a while, he looks so much fresher now even if he’s only had a few hours’ rest. To think this strange man trusted him not to take advantage of him through the night — he, Silver, a money-hungry employee of a brothel in Kerning City.

He buries his face in his hands so he won’t smile.

When Freud comes out he’s fully dressed, hair freshly waxed and styled, looking sharp and crisp again in his crimson blazer. There is one difference, though, the blue tie is not around his neck but tucked into the front pocket of his pants.

‘Please have breakfast with me,’ Freud says, fiddling with the cufflinks on his shirt.

Silver blinks and looks down at his cheap clothing, the way they look like trash compared to Freud’s finer dressing.

Freud laughs and waves him along, already heading to the door. ‘It doesn’t matter to me. Come on.’

He leads Silver out the Nihalian Oasis.

It’s Silver’s favorite time of day, when the sky is beginning to wake but the city hasn’t quite caught up yet, when the traffic is still muted and people are few between. They cut through the park. Birds whistle as they dart from tree to tree, specks of color against a brightening sky, dew still hanging off the grass. Freud talks the entire way there, pointing out bird nests, telling him the names of the wildflowers that grow along the cracked sidewalk, describes the history of the park, and Silver carefully stores every little bit of information away so everything Freud talks about will eventually remind him of Freud.

He steals glances when he’s sure Freud isn’t looking, he’s afraid Freud will see how much he wants him.

They come to the bridge. Silver feels uncomfortable simply stepping on that bridge, it’s a bridge he crossed when he gave up his life as a mercenary and settled for a simpler way of life. Not to mention that he’d already retreated to the lowest of the low, even in Kerning City. He wouldn’t fit there… He doesn’t even fit on this bridge where the concrete isn’t cracked and flaking in places and where the lamps actually work.

Freud sees his hesitation and laughs before taking his wrist and pulling him along.

Oh, how powerless he is.

Silver is enthralled as he always is by the majestic buildings. They are so shiny they look to be polished and he can actually see their reflections in the windows. He gapes at the streets so clean he would eat off them if he didn’t have a plate (but Freud would have lots to say about that), and wonders how any city can look, and stay, this beautiful… when Kerning City exists.

‘The buildings look like you,’ grins Freud.

‘How so?’

Freud snickers. ‘Nice and silver.’

Silver shoots a deadpanned look at Freud that has him doubling over in laughing fits. And Silver only barely manages not to smile.

He doesn’t realise that Freud has let go of his wrist until they reach a little coffee joint on the corner of the street. There’s no signage with the name of this joint, only a white awning with a blue moon printed upon it, and a stylized raven printed on the doorframe. Freud pushes open the finely carved door, beckoning for Silver to follow and he does, somewhat awkwardly.

Nobody pays any attention to him, which is a relief. The smell of coffee, rich and fragrant, floats in the air, and when it mixes with the scent of freshly baked pastries, the smell draws a rumble from Silver’s stomach. Freud hears it as they take their seats at a table and chuckles, while Silver sulks in slight embarrassment.

Silver glances at the menu that a waiter places in front of them, ignoring the look he received. He’s out of place, he gets it, he doesn’t need another reminder.

‘Have you decided what you’d like to have?’ asks Freud.

Silver nods. Freud chuckles, calls over the waiter and lets Silver place his orders before Freud does. When the waiter shoots him another judgemental look, Silver raises an eyebrow.

‘Are you done?’

He turns sharply, it’s Freud who has interjected and is staring pointedly at the waiter.

Silver chuckles inwardly as the waiter flushes, bows and mutters some apology before hurrying back to his post.

‘The nerve…’ Freud shakes his head. ‘I’d trust the staff here had better manners…’

‘It’s alright,’ Silver insists, but he’s glad that Freud has stood up for him. Nobody has done that before.

‘Of course it isn’t!’ Freud looks appalled. ‘You’re still a person. Nobody should judge you by how you look.’

‘Even if I have long hair and look like a girl?’

Freud laughs. ‘You think you do? I think you look charming.’

And Silver swears his thanks to whatever gods are watching down on him at the time, because their coffee arrives, and he has a cup to hide his slight flush in.

Again, Freud does the talking and Silver listens. He almost forgets they’re in New Leaf City, that he’s eating food that he’ll have to pay through the nose for, that Freud has to go to work. Time slows, and he's content to spend time with this gentle and kind man, and he can pretend that it’s still nighttime and Freud is still his, all his.

‘… and then the crow snatches it right out of my hand,’ growls Freud, finishing the tale of how he lost his favorite blueberry muffin to pesky thieving birds. He shakes his fist at the window. ‘And I was almost about to take a bite, too! They came so close I could feel the wind from their wings!’

‘You look kind enough to be bullied,’ smirks Silver, watching him languidly.

‘Not if you’re a crow and I’m twenty times larger than you!’

‘Who’s a crow?’

Silver glances to the side at the third voice. It belongs to a tall and elegant figure, decked in a smart white blazer and dress pants, the edges trimmed with fine gold. He looks to be a head taller than Freud, his blazer even crisper. The snug fit accentuates his slim waist and his strong shoulders, the high collar of his blazer perfectly framing the sharp V of his collarbones.

He studies the man’s leather dress boots (he has learned to recognise a real leather holster when he sees one), the laces tipped with gold, and infers that the two rows of buttons studding his blazer are pure gold as well. There’s a round brooch on his shoulder, a band of gold circling an aquamarine gem, framed by three soft feathers.

‘Nothing. I was just telling Silver here how that crow stole my muffin…’ Freud grins up at the man. ‘Silver, meet Lord Lumiere, or as he’s called —’

‘The Master Thief Phantom,’ he purrs, sweeping into an exaggerated bow that has Silver surprised. ‘Pleased to make your acquaintance.’

‘Good to meet you.’ Silver murmurs as he looks up at the blonde, looking once into his deep amethyst eyes and it doesn’t take a second glance to know that this is a very clever man, and if he didn’t know better, he’d say this man was clever like a crow, or a raven.

‘Enjoyed your food? We use only the finest ingredients you can get within a hundred miles from here,’ hums Phantom as he drags up a chair and plops himself at their table.

‘As always,’ Freud wipes his mouth on a napkin, speaking for a furiously-nodding Silver, ‘It was delicious.’

Phantom chuckles and slings an arm over Freud’s chair, and Silver can’t help but blink in surprise. The blonde flicks at his perfectly styled fringe as he studies Silver, smiling. ‘Oh? Even your new friend likes it I see… Silver, is it? Tell you what, breakfast is on me.’

‘Really, there isn’t a need,’ Freud hums.

Silver studies Phantom’s wide, warm smile. The man is actually quite friendly. He shakes his head, politely declining the offer for breakfast.

‘Oh, I insist.’ Phantom huffs and gets up. ‘What are friends for, after all?’

Freud shakes his head, smiling as Phantom settles the bill. Silver is secretly relieved that Phantom has stepped in at the last moment, he dreads the idea of having to burn so much good money on a single meal like this one when it may last him for weeks.

‘Rest assured, Silver. I was intending to pay for your meal,’ Freud chuckles, staring at him fondly.

‘I…’ Silver looks down and this time there’s nowhere to hide his embarrassment.

‘I wouldn’t bring you here knowing that you’d have to pay so much.’

Silver nods, touched by the man’s thoughtfulness.

‘Right, about the Master Thief Phantom,’ Freud whispers across the table, ‘They say he's embezzled so much money that he can actually retire already, he's just using this cafe as cover, but nobody can prove it…’

He lets Freud talk, and he listens. He glances at the empty plates and cups, still slightly guilty. He had spent the entirety of breakfast convincing himself that it’d cost eight gold pieces to buy time for a single meal with Freud. Despite the price, that’s something he’s willing to pay for.

 

* * *

 

The days following that become somewhat like the norm. Freud is gently eased into his nightly rhythm, he waits patiently every night for his arrival, silently fucks him into the morning, and watches over him while he sleeps. Then they have breakfast either in the park where Silver feeds the birds, or in Cafe Lumiere and Phantom joins them for a quick chatter and a wave of his gloved hand. He likes this schedule, though he’s still uncomfortable stepping into New Leaf City, he still doesn’t really feel fit to be there at all. But anywhere with Freud makes him feel at home — though home, in the most literal sense of the word, is still where he works at, in the Nihalian Oasis.

One day Hilla hands him a package and a note. ‘Hey, Silver. Someone dropped this off today. Seems that Lotus was too occupied getting his dick sucked that he didn’t remember to ask for a name.’

‘I’m sorry I’m not _fucking_ sorry!’ yells Lotus from the back, as Silver rolls his eyes and accepts the package. It’s not too heavy. He unwraps it on the counter to reveal a set of clothes and an envelope.

In the envelope is a picture of a boy with red hair, his left eye milky and dulled. He was half blind, probably, and he looked really short for his age. He pulled out a letter — a list, rather, which had a list of prompts, like:

_(a) Extremely attached to his older brother and mother. (b) Suffers from separation anxiety but doesn’t want to show it. (c) Always calls brother “Nii-san”..._

Silver raises an eyebrow and sets the letter down. It continues on to the other page, a detailed family history, a story of trust and betrayal, and Silver surmises that his next job is going to be an emotional one.

It’s signed by a simple name: _Valfor_.

‘What kind of name is that,’ laughs Hilla over his shoulder. Silver stiffens and snatches the letter away from her eyes, strangely protective of this younger brother’s history now that it has been entrusted to him — it's meant for him, there’s his name, just a plain ‘Silver’ written at the top with blocky lettertype in dark ink.

This will take some preparation… so he’ll have to sacrifice some time. An hour before the scheduled meeting, he slips into the bathroom. He almost takes his eye out trying to slip the grey contact lens over his pupil and he blinks furiously, hoping it won’t slip out of place. He can’t see out of it now. Then he works the strange powder provided into his hair, watching in surprise as it leaves a dull red sheen that doesn’t rub away, and wraps some of the cloth bandage around his head to hide the longest of his hair.

When his hair is arranged into as similar a tousle as he can manage, he slips the eyepatch over his eye, shrugs on the heavy red trenchcoat (which, for some warped reason, fits him perfectly), and pats the fur lining in place.

He takes the letter out and rehearses his lines.

He’s damned if he knows why people are into this kind of thing, but if it pays, he doesn’t have any qualms with it.

 

* * *

 

 

At midnight on the dot, Damian walks into the Nihalian Oasis. He walks with the air of a commander, his head high, eyes calm but analysing. The number of people in the brothel, the threats, his prospective hosts.

‘Good evening and welcome to the Oasis,’ Hilla walks up to him, smiling coyly, all swaying hips and seductive smiles. ‘Where we soothe throats that are parched. How may I assist you?’

Before she can say anything else, Damian raises a hand. ‘It’s just me.’

‘Oh.’ Hilla looks him up and down. ‘You look… different.’

Out of the corner of his eye he sees a man shift. Damian can’t break eye contact with Hilla for fear of alerting this man, yet his other eye is blind, sealed under his eyepatch and the angle isn’t good enough to study this strange figure.

‘Part of the job, is it not?’

He chuckles awkwardly and makes small talk, pretends to ignore the man in the corner who is watching him with intense, burning desire.

As soon as he can, he slips into one of the rooms and hangs his heavy fur coat on a hook behind the door and settles on the bed. That man… it looked like… no, surely it couldn’t be. He was gone, wasn’t he? Left him and mother for something else, to work for the Black Wings and their boss, this strange man called Nox — how many days had he worried over the fate of his mother, _their_ mother?

She had died in his arms and it had been his fault —

Damian shakes his head. This city is screwing with his memories, they should belong in the soil, buried in a grave beside mother’s, not undead and in his mind. To think _he_ had asked Damian to come all the way here, it was a mistake from the start, why was he even here anyways? As if his Nii-san sees Kerning City as the right place to meet, apt for the demon that he is deep down —

‘Damian.’

The voice makes his heart stop, the last time he heard that voice it had howled _I despise you_ and its owner clung to his ankles and asked for death by his hand —

‘Damian, look at me.’

He doesn’t want to, but it is his Nii-san and he cannot say no.

A hand snakes gently around his chin and guides his head, he forces himself to breathe as he meets Valfor’s cold gaze. The man is taller than him by a whole head, lankier, his narrow face framed by long locks of sleek maroon hair, the swirling tattoo on his left eye a stark reminder of what Valfor abandoned the family to do and just seeing it on his Nii-san’s face makes him want to pull away and run. Run. Far away from the man who gave up too much for too little.

‘I’m glad you came, Damian,’ Valfor murmurs, how can anyone smile so beautifully and yet so sadly at the same time?

‘Nii-san,’ he whispers.

‘I’m so sorry. I’ve neglected you. I’ve been a bad Nii-san.’

And he sees Valfor, his older brother, his Nii-san, asking for forgiveness, and his anger crumbles.

‘You weren’t there when mother and I needed you,’ he hisses brokenly and smacks the hand away from his face. Valfor’s fingers leave a strange warmth where they touched his skin. ‘How can you be sorry for that and not come back? She _died_ , Nii-san —’

‘I know.’ Valfor stands a distance away, his eyes dark and voice calm, he’s not sorry at all, but angry. Damian sees it too clearly, he knows everything about this man, but Valfor needs to hear this.

‘You don’t know, Nii-san. I had to get stronger to protect her because you weren’t there. I got this,’ he points angrily at the scar-like tattoo below his own eye, ‘I joined a gang, just to protect her, they nearly didn’t let me because I was born blind, I’m so useless —’

Valfor steps up to him and grabs his wrist, and he yelps as Valfor slams him into the wall, reminding him how much stronger his Nii-san has always been, he’s always been in that shadow, a monster that can’t step into the light —

Something dark and harrowing stirs, uncoils in his gut, sends shivers through him.

‘Damian,’ Valfor hisses, ‘Take it back.’

The stinging blow across his cheek takes off his eyepatch, he gasps sharply, it’s the first time Valfor has laid a hand on him like that.

‘Nii-san —’

Another one, the other cheek, it pulls a yelp from his lips and he gives up struggling, whimpering in his Nii-san’s strong grip, he wants to yield to him, to trust this heavy-handed man —

‘Say it.’ Valfor’s eyes are clouded in shadow and hint at unspeakable anger if he doesn’t obey, ‘For me, Damian.’

But it turns out to be a _request_ , not an order. And it is from his Nii-san and he cannot ever say no.

‘I-I’m… I’m not useless.’ The words sound like white lies, ash on his tongue, bitter because they are but words and words mean nothing in the face of the truth —

Damian’s eyes widen as Valfor steps in close, pressing their lips together. He melts in the man’s rough nipping, parting his lips as his Nii-san’s tongue runs across the seam of his lips, and suckles gently on the sweetness and the warmth that coat his gums and run across his teeth. He moans, shuddering, since when is Nii-san so kind? — it is a question that he doesn’t want the answer to, he presses back with fever, it is Nii-san, it is enough.

 _Please let Nii-san feel how much I need him,_ he thinks, and groans when Valfor’s grip on his wrist tightens, when he tugs gently at his lower lip.

Valfor pulls away and he lets out a soft whine, he can’t bite it back, he doesn’t want his Nii-san to go away, not when he needs him so much right now. He stumbles against the wall, suddenly unable to support his weight, breathing hitching when he sees the pure hunger in Valfor’s eyes, watches the pale fingers undo the sash around his lean waist and drop it on the ground.

‘Damian,’ that voice again, it makes him tremble this time because of the overtones of lust, thick in the air.

‘Nii-san,’ he whimpers.

And it makes Valfor smile. ‘Just like the good old days, huh? When we were just stupid kids…’

Damian is drawn forward, eyes glued to the growing bulge in the man’s slacks.

‘I never knew I loved you so much, little brother.’

 _Love?_ Damian shivers. The demon inside him raises its head, all fangs and blood and beating hearts and lust, lust —

‘Nii-san?’

‘Do you love me, Damian?’

_Lust is surging through his veins —_

‘I love you, Nii-san.’

‘Prove it, Damian. You hurt your Nii-san with your words, earlier…’

‘I’m love you, Nii-san, I just —’

‘Show me, Damian.’

_Lust is pounding in his head —_

‘How, Nii-san?’

Valfor smiles.

‘Get on your knees and suck me.’

His legs all but buckle and he sinks to the ground, already aching everywhere and trembling from the anticipation, this is what he has needed for so long, Valfor reminding him that he’s still Nii-san, that Nii-san is still stronger and Nii-san will protect him. Valfor slips the zipper down and gently frees his cock from his briefs and Damian’s eyes widen as they do every time, opening his mouth to receive the magnificent length —

‘Damian,’ warns Valfor.

‘Please let me suck your cock, Nii-san,’ he whispers.

Only then does his Nii-san smile wider and place his hand on his head, and cards his fingers through his wavy hair, playing with the bandages around his forehead. Damian plants a long and loving kiss right on the tip of his cock, already shivering from its the man’s scent and the feel of that taut skin under his lips.

He opens his mouth meekly for Nii-san to push it in, lapping softly at the flared head, it’s already leaking precome and throbbing, he can feel it on his tongue and lips. _Nii-san must really love me_ , he thinks with a mewl and he brings his hands up to the shaft to help guide more of that pulsing hardness into his throat.

‘So eager, Damian…’ Nii-san lets out a shaky groan and tugs at his hair, ‘Slow down… I don’t want to come inside your mouth…’

 _But I love you_ , he thinks as he pulls up, gasping and flicking his tongue along the shaft, pressing his lips tightly around it and bobbing up and down. He moves slowly at first, tracing all the veins on Nii-san’s beautiful cock, he has never forgotten its shape but he has forgotten how good it feels in his mouth, not too long but gods, so _thick_. He bobs down lower each time, until Nii-san is prodding at the back of his throat, and he mumbles, _I love you, Nii-san,_ without opening his mouth, and he watches his older brother shiver from the vibrations that run up straight from his cock.

‘Damian,’ hisses Nii-san, running his other hand down Damian’s face.

He revels in the gentle touch and would nuzzle into the gloved hand if not for the cock in his mouth, he laps at it before sliding down to the hilt and swallowing. He caresses the throbbing length with the flat of his tongue, swallowing hard once more for good measure before Nii-san tugs at his hair. He pulls up, staying at the head and suckling around it, swirling his light precome around and coating every part of his mouth with it like precious ointment for his aching soul.

‘Enough, my Damian…’

His Damian. _His_ Damian. _His Nii-san’s_ Damian.

He shudders, staring straight into those eyes, deep wine red, intoxicating, the color of regrets of nights long past.

‘Do you trust me, Damian?’

Thoughts of the fire crackle in his mind’s eye, the acrid smell of charring wood hiding a deeper scent of burning flesh —

‘Do you trust me, Damian.’

It is the deep voice of Valfor, cutting into these visions, he realises his tongue has stopped moving, perched on the slit.

‘Damian.’

The silhouette of a lanky man with long, flowing hair, a black robe hanging off his shoulders, walking away towards the Black Wings who wait with jeering smiles —

_(A faint watercolor image of a man with tousled almond hair, a red blazer, a sky blue tie —?)_

‘Help me trust you.’

Damian blurts it out because he wants his Nii-san.

_(And Silver because he doesn’t want to mix Freud up in this, not now…)_

Valfor smiles. The man picks him up off the floor and he remembers the time they play tag in the snow, under mother’s watchful eye and Nii-san grabs him off the floor and whisks him around like a merry-go-round, and his laughing Nii-san is the most wonderful thing his one good eye has ever seen.

Nii-san is kissing him again, planting a long kiss on his forehead as he undoes Damian’s scarf and sets it on the bedside table, he did give Damian that present after all, and Damian had worn it out specially for tonight. He shudders as Nii-san lays his lips on his skin, tracing down his neck and chest, loves those gentle caresses as his fingers slowly pick apart his buttons and unwrap him like a gift, the shirt slips off his shoulders and he arches upwards in silent invitation for his Nii-san to touch him, _there_ , like he does so well.

Valfor lets out a muted hum of approval, he sees a spark of desire in his eyes that sends a fierce shudder through him. Damian gasps as Nii-san fastens fingers around one of his nipples and pulls, further and further without letting go, all while nibbling on the other one. The man’s hair falls in beautiful liqueur cascades onto his torso, he can feel the strands tickling his heaving ribcage. He throws his head backwards and thrusts vainly upwards as the pressure on his nipples increases even further and yelps as Nii-san twists one, panting hard. ‘ _Ahh!_ Nii-san, p-please —’

The man lets go and he lets out a groan of sheer relief, melting as his Nii-san palms his sore nipple and trails his other hand down his torso, darting along the chiselled lines and touching them like a painting for his fingers, coming to rest on the button of his slacks. He trembles as his pants are peeled open, his throbbing erection springing free from its slightly-damp confines.

Both brothers watch it twitch in the midnight air.

‘No underwear, my Damian? You must really want me…’

‘I was hoping,’ he laughs shakily, the secret is out and now that his Nii-san knows, there is no going back. ‘H-Hoping you’d —’

‘I promised to be a good Nii-san.’

His good eye focuses on Valfor, who is staring into his eyes with nothing but warmth.

‘N-Nii…’

‘I won’t leave. Not any more, Damian. I’ll be your Nii-san.’

He lets out a whimper as Valfor runs his hands down the curves of his thighs, the gentle touch unlike anything he has ever known. He hears the soft sound of gel squirting and rubbed over skin, and then he shudders as his Nii-san presses his fingertip into his ass. ‘N-Nii-San… what?’

‘Relax for me, my Damian… Be good for me…’

Nii-san presses his finger deeper and Damian tries to relax, his breaths are already coming short, he’s so scared. But he wants to be a good little brother for Valfor, really he does, he grits his teeth and exhales, trying to get accustomed to the finger inside him but everytime he relaxes it goes in further…

‘Nii-san, please…’

‘Shh, it’ll feel good soon enough.’

He whimpers again and forces himself to relax, the finger is slimy inside him and _wriggling_ slightly, it’s making little jolts run through him, making his blood turn to ice. These new sensations have him gasping and mewing, sounds he never knew he could make, they sound foreign and _wrong_ in the night.

The finger stills and he gasps for breath, clenching to get a feel of it inside him, like it’s stuck so far inside him that it’s jabbing at his lungs and he’ll never breathe right again. Yet a part of him is disappointed it doesn’t go deeper, it isn’t thicker, he wants it to stay there and remind him that Nii-san will always be there —

Nii-san slowly pulls his finger out and Damian suddenly feels too empty, it’s so odd now and he groans, wishing he’d put his finger back. There’s a low chuckle and a glint in his brother’s eyes as the pressure comes back at his entrance, this time _gods_ it’s so much thicker than the previous time, Damian is sure it’s going to split him into two.

‘See, Damian? Your ass is twitching for me…’ Damian whimpers at his brother’s voice, husky and laced with desire, ‘And you can take another finger easily.’

‘ _Big_ ,’ gasps Damian.

Valfor merely smiles and continues sliding his fingers in, the new thickness making Damian gasp and thrash on the bed, panting hard. They slip in and out, slowly at first and then faster, Damian realises through the discomfort that the odd feeling of being stretched is actually sending bolts of electricity up his spine, making something in his crotch wind tighter and tighter. Precome is trickling down his erection, he doesn’t know if he likes these new feelings but surely he must, he is clenching harder on the fingers and slowly rocking his hips in time to his Nii-san’s comforting rhythm, relaxing perfectly whenever he scissors his fingers inside him.

‘That’s it…’ His Nii-san’s purr makes him all but dissolve into the sheets as another finger is added, making him gasp. Slowly he learns to arch his hips for the right angle, to breathe in time to his Nii-san’s ministrations, holding his breath to feel the electrifying jolts as those fingers touch him _there_ , and make him whimper and moan.

‘Nii-san,’ he gasps as the fingers are slowly pulled out of him. He feels his entrance clenching, throbbing for more of his Nii-san.

He hears something wet again and cranes his neck to look, his eyes widen as his Nii-san gently caresses his cock, coating it in more of that slimy fluid, and he can only groan in anticipation of what he guesses is to come. Nii-san carefully wraps his pale fingers around his cock, which looks almost painfully hard, and Damian watches, something inside his brain snapping as he strokes his shaft up and down.

He groans, he wants his Nii-san so badly.

Finally done, his brother shuffles over and props his legs up, Damian feels even more exposed in this position, but it’s soon forgotten with the hardness pressed up against his entrance.

‘You feel so big, Nii-san…’ he whispers, a strange mix of fear and anticipation shooting through him.

‘And you are so wonderfully tight, my Nii-chan.’

With that, his Nii-san presses gently into him and he feels his entrance stretch, further and further and _further still_ , he keens as the wide girth slowly pries him open, wider than he ever dreamed. He’s whimpering as Nii-san stills, the bulbous head finally past the tight ring of his muscles, gasping for breath. He meets his Nii-san’s eyes, a flash of ecstasy running through him when he sees him panting, face slightly flushed from the sensations.

‘Glorious,’ Nii-san murmurs, and Damian smiles shakily back.

He pushes in slowly again and Damian simply lies there, revelling in the thickness and the lack of air, feeling the cock that once filled his mouth now fill another part of him, but it feels so much better there. He groans at how it never seems to end, how it feels to grow thicker and harder as it presses into him, the pain flowering in his ass combining with that pleasure to give a sweet, thrilling mixture.

Finally he feels his Nii-san press up against him, surely it can’t be all, but it is, he’s taken the whole of Nii-san’s cock inside him. He looks up and smiles blearily, and his brother smiles back, and almost instantly the pain fades away.

‘Nii-chan,’ his brother whispers, and it sends a tremor through Damian, the way the word sounds like pure lust.

Nii-san starts moving, slowly at first, and the sensations have Damian groaning immediately. Nii-san is big, but with all that friction, the way he presses against him to split him open, it squeezes tears from his eyes, but he relishes it. Each gentle stroke makes Damian melt, a little more each time, it feels like his Nii-san is slowly pressing the knowledge that he is safe, he is wanted, he is _loved_ , deeper and deeper inside him, sealing his promise _to be a good Nii-san_ with every thrust.

Damian loves it. He rocks his hips slightly, looking for the angle where Nii-san will press straight against _that_ spot, make the edges of his vision turn blurry. Damian writhes in bed, feeling his brother’s thickness, his brother’s hardness surge into him with every powerful stroke, gripping the sheets so tightly he fears he will tear them.

Teeth are nipping at his lips, Damian opens his eyes in surprise as his Nii-san suckles at the lower lip, his taste mixing with his passion, Damian is sure this will be the flavour of his desire for years to come. He presses back with equal parts passion and hunger, moaning as Nii-san thrusts into him harder, their kiss making it so hard to breathe, and Nii-san is intent on sucking the breath right through his lungs.

 _There_. Nii-san bites on his lip as he hits the spot that has him seeing sparks, just as he pushes so deep into him that it feels like he’s being stabbed from the inside, he forgets to kiss and simply moans, gasping for breath. The room fades, his fears fade, his memories darken and all that he knows is Nii-san, his beloved Nii-san, pummelling him into the bed and showing him what true heaven feels like. Instinctively he clenches down on that throbbing mass, rocking his hips to press back against him, to impale himself on Nii-san’s length.

‘Nii-san…’

He cinches his legs around his Nii-san’s waist and pulls him closer, barely registering the look of surprise he receives, but it only serves to fuel the desire in the room and Nii-san pounds into him harder still. He groans and mewls as Nii-san’s rhythm breaks, as Nii-san grabs his hips to pull him closer to him. The sound of skin slapping against skin rings sharply in the air, punctuated by his heady sounds of desire.

Nii-san’s hand wraps firmly around his weeping cock and starts stroking it, Damian howls from the sensation that his aching member is finally receiving and at the same time the cock in his ass seems to plunge even deeper inside him. Nii-san’s fingers feather along the shaft, raking the sensitive skin occasionally with his nails, thumbing over the slit on every pass and milking him for every drop of precome he can give.

Damian falls limp on the bed, overwhelmed by the two sensations that besiege him, and all he can think of is how full he is now, how good Nii-san feels inside him and around him, the sharp stings that are left along his chapped lips from Nii-san’s teeth. He whimpers into Nii-san’s ear, drowning in his passion, drunk on the man’s taste and scent.

‘Damian.’

His name, murmured like a taboo, a long forgotten spell, sounds like love. He shudders and the fingers around his shaft tighten, he slams back against his Nii-san with the furor of an obsessed lover and the mounting pressure on that sweet, sweet spot soon has him tensing and releasing his load with a groan. He whimpers and clenches down harder but Nii-san keeps moving, the friction sending him to a new plane of pleasure, rocking him so hard that he can’t help but come again to Nii-san moaning his name in his ear like a prayer.

Then his Nii-san lets out a guttural groan as he slams straight into him, as far as he can go, and Damian feels the warmth all but sear his insides. He whimpers as Nii-san hardens impossibly inside him, harder still as he throbs and releases his seed inside him. Instinctively he clenches and rocks his hips, shuddering from the friction and the sudden warmth, trying to milk his Nii-san of every drop of come he’s worth.

They let out a unified groan and Nii-san sags against him, their chests are heaving and they are smiling blearily through the haze of euphoria that the orgasm leaves in its wake. He raises a hand to brush across his Nii-san’s cheek, stroking at the dark purple tattoo coiling across his face, and his brother actually leans into his touch.

He smiles, he knows that Nii-san can feel his forgiveness because they are pressed together again and sharing a lover’s kiss. It’s gentle, and sweet, and tender.

 

* * *

 

 

‘You’re pretty good,’ says Valfor, once Silver steps out of the shower.

‘I have to be,’ murmurs Silver, rubbing a towel through his hair, which is charcoal black again. ‘It’s what I do.’

Valfor leans back on his arms, he looks melancholy and introspective, nothing like the frenzied lover he saw just now. Silver offhandedly wonders if Damian ever got to see that side of him before.

A strange thought takes hold of him.

Silver glances sideways at the man, who is dressed again in his black trenchcoat and white cravat. ‘Valfor, know it is not in my place to ask… but what has happened to Damian?’

‘Nothing.’ Valfor smiles softly, lifting a cigarette to his lips and taking a long drag on it. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘I was… I just was hoping that Damian might get to know how you feel.’

Valfor sighs, a puff of bitter smoke. ‘I don’t know where he’s gone, or what he’s doing now. If I could have, I’d have told him.’

‘I see.’ Silver hums.

‘It’s Damian Agis,’ murmurs Valfor, casting a pointed glance at him.

Silver meets his gaze. ‘Code of Kerning City.’ He shrugs apologetically. ‘Although, if you answer me this question, perhaps I can give you an address, as a _friend_.’

‘I will do my best,’ Valfor’s gaze hardens.

‘Will you tell your brother everything you’ve told me?’

Valfor hears, contemplates, and laughs. ‘Why, Silver? Do you empathise with my Nii-chan?’

‘Perhaps.’

Valfor smiles. ‘I have spent years hunting him down. If I do know where he is, I’ll let him know everything. I owe him too much.’

Silver scoffs and looks down. It’s as good an answer as he needs. ‘He stays along the Back Alleys, near the construction site. Ask for White Eye, they’ll be more than happy to point you there, he’s quite a pest.’

Valfor’s eyes soften. ‘Thank you, Silver.’

‘One more thing, if your brother is a virgin like you had me act, use more lube and go slower or it’ll hurt like hell in the morning. You’re thick, even for me. Poor bastard.’

Valfor blinks and bursts out chuckling. ‘I’ll… I’ll be sure to be careful.’

He stands, takes one final and deep drag on the cigarette before tossing it out the window. Silver watches him sling his heavy bag around his shoulder, it looks like he’s been roughing it out for a long time. He finds it in him to take pity on this man as well.

‘I hope you find him,’ he calls, as Valfor is fishing in his pocket for coins.

The long-haired man smiles and drops two marks on the table. ‘One for your excellent fucking, and one for being a good _friend_.’

Silver nods in thanks as the man waves over his shoulder and slips out the door.

‘Good luck with your lost love, Silver. You already know your answer, don’t you?’

By the time Silver catches his breath and looks up again, the front door is slamming shut. He contemplates a while longer before getting up to store the coins carefully away.

That night, Freud comes to him as he always does, and they fuck in perfect silence, Silver watching that beautiful man slowly unravel upon his dick, and the only thing he can think of is Valfor’s relief when he finally hears Damian (him?) show his true colors.

And he realises that Freud is already deeply, irredeemably lost in love, and Silver has no place there… not in Freud’s side of the city, or in Freud’s mind.

He stares out the window, conflicted, as Freud sleeps peacefully, blissfully unaware about the maelstrom of thoughts in his mind. But maybe… just  _maybe_ … he might do something for Freud, tomorrow. When the sun comes up.

Silver glances over at Freud’s peaceful face, and hopes he’s having sweet dreams. He doesn’t dare guess who he’s dreaming of, but whatever it may be, he hopes Freud is happy, in the dreams that are just dreams and fade to nothing in the morning.

He hopes Freud is loved, there.


	5. Chapter 5

The sun comes up, and he wakes Freud, and he walks Freud to the coffee joint, and watches him leave.

It is the third day since he has vowed to do something for Freud.

And for the third time, he can’t find the courage to.

 

* * *

 

 

Silver startles when a fist is slammed in front of his vision. Some of his beer sloshes out of his mug when the table tilts and Silver barely manages to right everything in time.

He looks at the gloved fist and follows the muscular arm up to meet the tanned skin of the leering sailor with a dirty mouth.

‘Yo,’ Hawkeye grins. ‘Silver, eh? Eckhart recommended you personally. I must say, though… you’re really pretty for a guy.’

Silver meets his eyes with a bored look. Taunting is such a huge turn off.

Hawkeye smirks at him. ‘Such audacity…’ He holds out a gold coin and makes sure Silver gets a good look at it. ‘This is yours if you’re as good as everyone says you are. And I don’t believe half the stories about you. Go ask Belle for the things I need, and meet me in my room at once.’

The man turns on his heels and the heavy footfalls of his boots recede into a room. Silver turns back and realises that the entire brothel is staring at him.

‘What?’

He is suddenly besieged by Belle, who grips his wrist and all but drags him into the bathroom. ‘Silver, come _on_ … you’ll love him, I promise—’

‘The only one loving the way that arrogant bastard does things is you,’ he hisses back.

Belle swears as she sorts through the dressing table drawers. ‘You’ll have time for your _friend_ later on. Hawkeye’s the kind, who, who gets _high_ on his _fucking hormones_ , and then he drops coins like a drunkard.’

‘I don’t need the money, Belle.’

Belle pushes a paper bag into his chest and growls, ‘Then at least do it for the _fucking_ pleasure, Mister I Am Better Than You.’

Silver snatches the bag up. ‘I’m only doing this because I don’t want Eckhart’s name tarnished.’

He stalks out the bathroom, noting with a fierce scowl that everyone is watching his every move.

Hawkeye is waiting, watching with a smile as he enters the room. Silver meets his intense gaze with a glare of his own, letting the ginger know his dissatisfaction with the whole situation that’s happening right now.

‘Yo, girly.’ Hawkeye snickers.

Silver clenches his jaw and consciously makes the effort to play nice. ‘I thought you only had a thing for girls.’

Hawkeye gestures for him to open the package. ‘Aye, I do. But there’s a very simple solution.’

Silver tears open the last of the tape, takes one glance inside the package, and flushes a deep crimson.

A maid’s dress. It’s black and there are frills along the collar and the hem, made of soft cotton which is so thin he’s sure that his nipples will show clearly as sharp little peaks, perhaps emphasizing them even more… if it'd cover them.

‘You…’

Hawkeye grins widely, showing his teeth like a shark, making him shiver at the dangerous hunger in his eyes. Hawkeye stands and walks up to him, taking the dress from his icy hand and wrestling the package from his other.

‘Make yourself useful and strip for me, lovely. I’ll sort out our playthings.’

Silver hesitantly brings his hands to his shirt and starts undoing the buttons. He realises his heart is pounding fiercely in his chest, he doesn’t have a clue what to expect because nobody has asked him to do anything remotely like this before, and Hawkeye… Hawkeye is simply the hungriest customer he has had.

Hawkeye watches, his pale grey eyes glinting like a predator’s when Silver shrugs out of his shirt, and follows his hand down to his trousers as he unbuttons it and steps out of it. ‘Ah? Not hard yet, huh? We’ll fix that soon enough… hear from the rest of them you’re a bit of a bottom boy.’

‘I am whatever my customer needs me to be,’ hisses Silver. He hooks a finger in his briefs and tugs it down, baring his soft length for Hawkeye to gaze upon. The underwear he flings into the pile of discarded clothing.

‘I need a little girl to pleasure me tonight,’ Hawkeye purrs. Silver steps forward when the man beckons, coming to a halt just in front of him. ‘Does this mean you will fulfill my sick desire, my lovely?’

Silver doesn’t answer. Hawkeye chuckles and pulls out another set of clothing, it’s shaped like a torso with laces running down the back.

‘Arms out for me, darling.’

 _I’m not your darling_ , Silver thinks, but raises his arms for Hawkeye to slip the article over his head and over his body. Hawkeye settles it comfortably on his hips and makes sure it lines up properly. The feeling of leather, cool and smooth over his skin, makes him shiver despite himself. The top of the leather only comes up to the middle of his ribcage, an inch away from his nipples, which Hawkeye teasingly pinches to pull a sharp yelp from him in surprise.

‘There, that corset fits you perfectly,’ Hawkeye runs his fingers down the leather and grips his hips, guiding him to turn around. ‘Turns me on enough.’

Something tugs at him and the leather around him tightens, forcing out his breath with a gasp. Silver’s eyes widen as Hawkeye pulls again, it’s the lace for sure, and the leather squeezes his ribcage harder, constricting his lungs and making it so hard to suck air down.

‘It’s too tight,’ he hisses.

‘Nonsense,’ Hawkeye purrs, patting his ass gently, ‘If you can protest, you can breathe. And that’s all that matters.’

He feels Hawkeye’s hands shift and he can feel him tying off the lace behind his back, one knot, two knots, three dead knots that will be impossible for him to pick open on his own. He bites back a whimper, shivering as Hawkeye takes his ability to breathe and sets it firmly under his control.

‘That’s it… starting to harden already.’ Hawkeye turns him around and grins, stroking his half-erection with a finger. The gentle touch makes a jolt run through him and he bites back a gasp, only barely, he can’t hold his breath for long and his breaths are coming in short and haggard.

Hawkeye removes a golden ring from his thumb, the biggest one, and Silver flushes deeper, realising what it’s for. The hunger is back in the man’s eyes as he carefully threads the Silver’s dick through it, settling it snugly at the base. Silver swallows hard, it’s so tight that it’ll send him to a new hell when he gets harder.

The man languidly flicks a finger against the head, making Silver gasp from the sharp sensation before keening softly under his breath when his erection fights to grow inside the confines of the ring.

‘So pretty… it even has a little purple stone at the top for you, see?’ Hawkeye chuckles and picks up the dress again.

He has Silver hold his arms straight out. And then he begins to play with his nipples. Silver has to fight for breath at every touch, the exposed part of his torso is so sensitive that he’s gasping and writhing slightly despite himself. Hawkeye takes his time, gently stroking around his nipples and feeling Silver’s chest rise and fall in short bursts, raking his nails of his thumbs across the rapidly hardening nubs before drawing away. Hawkeye fastens his thumb and forefinger around his pert nipples and rolls them in his grip, pulling at them and making Silver yelp whenever he suddenly increases the pressure.

Then Hawkeye loses interest and has him turn around again. The man reaches around him and guides the dress over his head and torso, Silver shudders as the soft silk rubs down against his aching nipples. Hawkeye pats the skirt into place, arranging the lace properly before doing up the zipper and buttoning the dress to the corset all around. It’s a tube-top set that leaves his nipples exposed for Hawkeye to reach over and give him a little stimulation.

Hawkeye pats his waist, which is shrunk by the corset, and he grits his jaws as he turns around for him. He stares fiercely at Hawkeye, who merely laughs and reaches into the bag. ‘Hmm, not quite finished yet. Bend over, darling.’

Silver stiffens, for once the thought doesn’t register in his mind and Hawkeye raises an eyebrow. He doesn’t waste any more time and simply turns Silver around before pushing him down. Silver yelps as the corset shifts and strains from this new posture and the already-short skirt rides further up his ass, exposing his entrance clearly.

He can’t help but clench involuntarily and Hawkeye lets out a low chuckle before pressing a lubed finger into him. The finger that suddenly slides into him has him gasping for breath, coupled with the corset that makes his innards feel even thinner than already are, they have him mewling and squirming as the finger curls inside him. Hawkeye works his finger in and out relentlessly, slicking the inside of his walls liberally with lube before finally pulling his finger away.

Silver trembles, Hawkeye’s other hand still pressed on his lower back, and dreads what’s to come next. Hawkeye is fast and efficient and _skilled_ , and he’s able to simply _mould_ him into whatever he wants Silver to be, takes what he wants.

Something cold and hard is pressed against his entrance and Silver grits his teeth, forcing himself to relax as the long object is forced into him. Silver swears as he feels the little knobs pressing past his entrance, making him shiver and harden as it fills him more and more, and then with one fierce push Hawkeye has it pressed up firmly against his prostate. Silver whimpers as his entrance snaps shut around it and the strange mix of pleasure and helplessness send jolts through him. Only then does Hawkeye tap his back and bids him straighten.

He does, breathing hard, feeling his control start to fray, clenching nervously around the dildo inside his ass and feeling every small bump on its plastic surface rubbing against the sensitive walls of his ass.

He turns just in time to see Hawkeye drop the little length of rubber cord that is the only way to pull out the dildo from inside him. Hawkeye smoothes out the skirt, arranging the frills back in place, before tapping the bed beside him.

Silver lets out a moan, shuddering and almost doubling over — it is a _vibrator_ inside his ass, not a dildo, and Hawkeye is holding a little remote with a smug glint in his eyes. He fights for breath against the jolts that run through him as the plastic rubs up against his prostate, shooting pure pleasure through his nerves.

‘Please sit,’ purrs Hawkeye.

He inhales as deeply as he can manage before gingerly resting on the bed and the vibrator pushes up against his prostate. Hawkeye hands him some thin fabric.

‘Put it on.’

He unrolls the fabric with trembling hands… _stockings_. Silver hisses but hurriedly complies, wanting the vibration in his ass to cease, pulling the tight-fitting cloth over his slender legs and tugging until the creases are gone and the hem rests at his mid thighs. Hawkeye reaches over, giving his leaking hard-on a firm pull for good measure before taking the straps that extend from the hem and buckling them to the corset. The fingers running over the thigh-highs feel intoxicating, the softest silk on his skin.

‘Finishing touches…’

The man pulls a thin fabric up his legs, and Silver’s eyes widen at the black silk tipped with lace. It’s nothing more than a strap that fits around his waist and he gasps as Hawkeye gently tucks his erection into the fabric, it’s so thin that it’s almost translucent and he can see his shaft straining against the cloth. Every little movement gives him a sweet, new friction that makes him shiver and there’s a definite patch forming as the thong soaks up his precome.

Hawkeye pulls out a pair of stiletto heels and Silver feels the last of his breath leave him in a weak keen of protest, he’s seen the girls totter around in them and the pair that Hawkeye holds, while not more than three or four inches high, look cruel.

‘Come on, Silver. Be a good girl for me.’ Hawkeye runs his hand tenderly down his thighs, fitting the straps of the heels around his stocking-wrapped feet and adjusting the buckles so it’s the right size. Silver whimpers, trembling from the vibrations, when his foot arches against the fierce curve of the shoe and Hawkeye buckles firmly it over his ankles so it doesn’t shift. He does the same for the other leg before reaching into his pocket.

Silver lets out a moan of sheer relief as the vibration finally stops and he doubles over, fighting for breath. Hawkeye doesn’t give him any respite and pulls him to his feet roughly by the arm, forcing him to try to find purchase in his strange new footing. He is manhandled over to the mirror where he flushes at the image that he sees, it is no longer Silver but this horny, desperate and flushed girl staring back at him with wide, twilight eyes.

Hawkeye stands beside him, gently tucking his charcoal hair back behind his ear and the locks cascade down to frame well-defined shoulders that heave with his every breath. His nipples are pert and erect, emphasized by the black maid’s dress that fits snugly around him and his thin, effeminate waist before flaring out around his hips, so painfully short that it isn’t enough to cover his erection. He can feel the frilly lace brushing along his dick, which is throbbing leaking precome all over his fine stockings. Right on cue Hawkeye lifts the skirt slightly for him to see the golden ring around his hard shaft and the glinting amethyst jewel set in the middle, it’s clear even through his thin panties. His legs are wrapped in thin black thigh-highs, making them look even more slender than they actually are, and come to end in pointed stilettos that keep his calves taut and lean from the posture.

Hawkeye nibbles on his ear and Silver whimpers, tilting his head for him to have more room, and then hands are caressing his chest and shoulders. He opens his eyes to see Hawkeye in his reflection, buckling a black leather collar around his neck, starkly visible on the exposed parts of his torso. He hears the sound of a little padlock clicking into place and Hawkeye taps on it, a little heart-shaped trinket that fits in the hollow between his collarbones. The man holds up the key, it’s not even an inch long, and Silver realises with a slight tremor through him that he won’t be getting out of this ensemble without Hawkeye’s consent.

The man grins and slips the steel key into his pocket.

‘Walk.’

Silver doesn’t move for a while, trying to mentally figure out how to move, but the hesitation costs him a sharp jolt to his ass as Hawkeye makes the vibrator flare to life inside him. Immediately he takes a shaky step forward, straining to hold his balance and feeling the weight shift unsteadily on the tiny stilt on which his heel rests. He grinds his jaws, the shoe is too slippery because of the stockings, but still he forces himself into motion, carefully resting his weight on the heel before pressing down on the toe, and the vibrator rubs up inside him on every step as he cautiously makes his way around the room.

Hawkeye lends a hearty smack to his exposed bottom and nearly makes him fall. ‘Good girl.’ Silver realises that the man is turned on, there’s a bulge in his pants that looks uncomfortable even to him. Hawkeye pulls out a thin, silk leash and clips it to the padlock, and Silver flushes deeper when he hears a little tinkling bell that’s attached to the end of the leash.

‘Now, it’s time for our walk.’ Hawkeye wraps the leash around his fist and tugs Silver forward, and he hurries forward to catch up, trailing behind the man. They come around the door and Silver feels his cheeks burn as the other patrons turn to stare at him, someone actually lets out a groan upon seeing him and Silver sees that man lower a hand to his crotch.

Hawkeye walks proudly down into the crowd and Silver follows meekly, he’s sure the burn on his cheeks make for a beautiful flush but he can’t help it, or the sheepish look he wears. Alpha is motionless in Eckhart’s embrace as Hawkeye leads Silver to him, and Eckhart lets his eyes rove over Silver’s body.

‘You always had something for girls,’ Eckhart murmurs to Hawkeye, who chortles.

‘This works just as fine. Silver is very pretty like this.’ Hawkeye tugs and Silver turns around to let Hawkeye show him off from every angle. ‘Go on, darling. Pleasure him.’

Silver carefully gets down on his knees in front of Eckhart, thankful that the strain eases off his calves, but Eckhart shakes his head and pushes Alpha forward.

‘You’ll pleasure my sub, and I’ll watch,’ smiles Eckhart.

Alpha looks down at him with a wicked grin and Silver shivers. ‘Shit, Silver. You look really hot… And I finally get your service without paying a thing.’

‘You’ll be paying dearly if you come before I let you,’ Eckhart chuckles, as he holds out Alpha’s cock towards Silver. ‘Silver’s mouth is the hardest battle to fight.’

Silver parts his lips for Eckhart to push the cock between them and he sucks gently, lapping around the head and tracing the veins with the tip of his tongue, intending to make Alpha lose his control. He grazes his teeth on the smooth, sensitive skin, earning a sharp inhale of breath from his colleague and a groan from Hawkeye.

He bobs up and down, hearing the bell on his collar jingle with his every movement, and Alpha curls his fingers in his hair, beyond speech already. He closes his eyes to feel the shaft better, lapping at the eye and tasting his bitter precome and sucking sweetly on the head to coax out more.

He whimpers around Alpha’s cock as the soft whirr starts inside his ass and vibrations send electrifying jolts through him. Hawkeye is running his hands down his sides, playing with the silk dress and brushing over his exposed skin, he leans into the touch, all the while lapping obediently at the shaft in his mouth.

Eckhart taps on his forehead and he pulls back, eyes lidded and twitching occasionally from the vibrator inside him, as the man undoes his jeans. At the same time, Hawkeye pulls Silver to his feet, waiting for him to steady himself on the thin stilts before nibbling at his neck. Silver gasps, fighting to get air into his constricted lungs, feeling his dick throb almost painfully in the ring as Hawkeye trails his tongue over his skin, kissing the spot almost lovingly.

Hawkeye flicks at his nipple with finger and trails down his torso with the other hand coming to a rest on his erection, rubbing and squeezing the head between his thumb and forefinger through his panties. Silver groans and Hawkeye presses closer, Silver can feel the hardness that is for now confined in his pants. Eckhart presses a firm kiss to Alpha’s lips, making the blonde moan.

With his free hand he pulls Alpha down into his lap, whispering darkly into his ear and actually makes his eyes widen in fear before he nods. The vibrations in Silver’s ass get fiercer and makes him moan, shuddering and twitching and gasping as Eckhart smiles.

‘Shall we, Hawkeye?’

‘I’ve been waiting, you piece of shit seaweed. Hurry up.’

Silver moans as Hawkeye suddenly tugs his panties down and pulls gently on the rubber cord and his ass strains and stretches to let the end of the vibrator out of him. He forces his entrance to relax and Hawkeye finally gets a firm grip on the dildo, starting to pump it in and out of him. He instinctively rocks his hips, craving more friction and clenching firmly on the intrusive plastic inside him, trying to rub his insides against it.

‘Look at them fuck themselves…’ Hawkeye moans. ‘Fuck. So hot…’

In Eckhart’s embrace, Alpha is also gasping and writhing as the man slides a glass phallus in and out of him, Silver can see it glisten in the halflight and hear his unhinged groans. It takes a few strokes before Silver is watching the phallus slide into Alpha’s ass and he feels the vibrations press against his prostate at the same time, and he is letting out little mewls of pleasure as his dick throbs and aches in the ring.

Hawkeye trails one hand up his back and gently pushes him down. ‘Come on, darling… bend over.’ Silver is trembling from the exertion, his breaths don’t fill him completely and he’s feeling heady from the sensations already but he blinks and Alpha’s cock is pressing between his lips and into his mouth. Immediately he closes his eyes and suckles like the good girl Hawkeye made him become, and Eckhart grabs him by the hair and pulls him to meet Alpha’s crotch.

The blonde is squirming and whimpering above him as Silver swallows around his throbbing shaft and laps at everywhere he can reach, it’s a struggle to relax his throat and draw breaths from the corset that is tightened around his ribcage.

‘Let’s just fucking do it already, you slimy sea eel. I want my little girl _now_.’

‘Patience, Hawkeye…’

‘You can take your sweet fucking time, I’m going to go ahead and help myself.’

Silver yelps around Alpha’s cock as Hawkeye gives the vibrator one last firm thrust against his prostate and grinds it there before pulling it out. He feels Alpha shift, Eckhart is setting the glass phallus on the floor beside his feet and pulling Alpha and Silver down into his lap. He can’t see much but he can hear Alpha’s strangled moans and high-pitched whines, feel him writhe and twist his hips.

‘That’s it, boy.’ Hawkeye groans, trailing fingers down his lower back, feeling out the ridges of his spine. ‘Take Eckhart’s cock _deep_ inside you… Fuck, Eckhart. The boy looks like he hasn’t had a cock inside him before.’

Silver feels fingers pressed into his ass and they are scissored almost immediately, making his breath hitch. He doesn’t have time to relax before they are sliding in and out, rubbing against his prostate and the walls of his ass firmly, he can feel more lube being pressed into his hole.

‘I don’t think he’s taken many,’ Eckhart says, as Hawkeye smacks Silver’s crotch, getting him to arch his back and push his ass further up in the air.

‘He looks like he’s enjoying it, aren’t you boy. You should learn to enjoy having cock up your little hole. Maybe Silver can show you how you look right now.’

Silver lets out a soft grunt as the fingers are pulled out of his ass and the throbbing head of a cock is pressed against his entrance. He forces himself to relax, gasping furiously for breath through his nose as Hawkeye eases into him, just a little bit too quickly to be comfortable. He groans and clenches weakly around Hawkeye, relishing the fleshiness of that length after the unyielding surface of the vibrator, and rocks his hips backwards in a silent plea for more. Silver struggles to relax around Hawkeye’s girth, gasping for breath as his thick length is forced deeper and deeper around his insides that are too tight even for him to draw breath.

‘Silver’s my favorite sub,’ Eckhart chuckles, giving Alpha a sharp thrust that has him trembling in Silver’s mouth. ‘But I suppose fucking a headstrong boy is a good change.’

‘Good change for you. Fuck, Silver’s as tight as a girl…’ Hawkeye moans and Silver can hear his hunger leaking from his voice. ‘Fuck me back, Silver. Harder.’

Silver feels hands wrapped around his waist to steady him, giving him more support on his high platforms before Hawkeye starts thrusting with earnest. He begins to clench down harder as Hawkeye slams into him firmly, sliding out to the head before slamming his entire length inside him in one smooth and fierce thrust, jolting him forward and into Alpha’s cock. He swallows desperately, fighting to draw breath, feeling his own dick throb at the sensations and leaking precome, silently crying for release.

The cock down his throat hardens even more, Silver feels Alpha shift and squirm each time Eckhart thrusts up into him, leaking precome into his throat. Whenever he does he swallows and clenches harder on Hawkeye, the feeling of being filled in both ends sending a fierce tremor through him and making him moan around the cock in his mouth. He sucks more furiously, rocks his hips and squirms until Hawkeye slams into his prostate and makes him clench involuntarily against the pleasure that courses through his veins.

Hawkeye moans. ‘ _Fuck,_ Silver. So good…’

‘I told you he was good,’ gasps Eckhart, Silver hears his voice slightly more breathy as he fucks his sub more fiercely, almost making Alpha bounce up and down on his length. The whimpers and low groans are punctuated by Silver’s sharp breaths echoing in his ears, and that infernal tinkling of the bell as it knocks against the heart-shaped lock around his collar. He feels tears come to his eyes as Hawkeye growls and slams into him harder, barely managing to fight breaths down, much less to beg to be let to come.

The first surge of orgasm races through him and makes him tense and stiffen, he rides the sweet crashing sensation but it only flows out in limp precome before it fades away slightly. He whines around Alpha’s cock as best as he can, trying to protest and plea for release from the confines around his shaft.

‘Eckhart,’ Alpha gasps. ‘Please, I can’t hold on —’

‘Looks like your girl can’t take much more either, Hawkeye.’ Eckhart cuts Alpha’s whimper off with fingers shoved into his mouth, Silver can hear the muffled protests as Alpha tries to force words out without using his tongue.

Silver whimpers as loudly as he can.

‘So… mercy?’ Hawkeye asks, breathing hard but still sober, slipping his hand into Silver’s long hair and holding him still.

Eckhart runs his hand across Silver’s cheek. ‘I’d say so. It’s not nice to be so cruel.’

‘You always ruin all the fun,’ grumbles Hawkeye.

The man starts pounding harder into him and he actually keens from the sharp thrusts, he feels the last of his control fray and fade away and merely hangs there, letting Hawkeye’s hand and cock hold him up. He moans as Hawkeye slides in and out, the friction forcing all other thoughts out of him other than the sweet pleasure inside his ass and the thickness that occupies his throat. Hawkeye thrusts into him faster still, his breath coming in hard gasps and Silver closes his eyes to feel that hardness inside him, moaning as he tenses with his impending orgasm.

Hawkeye grips his waist hard, wrapping his fingers tightly around his shaft and stroking him hard and fast and erratically, he squirms and gasps, vision blurring. He can’t think, can’t move, the only thing in his mind is that thick mass sliding in and out of him at a rapid pace that makes him quake where he stands. Then with one final hard thrust that seems to split him clean in half Hawkeye has him toppling off that cliff he’s been standing on for far too long, he tenses and swallows hard as he climaxes, the howl that he lets out muffled by Alpha’s cock in his mouth.

He comes harder than he has for a long time, the surge of his orgasm squeezing past the tight ring, through his shaft and finally gloriously out through the head as hot milky come. He instinctively swallows fiercely around the shaft in his mouth, his shaky whine surely sending vibrations through Alpha’s cock and making him tremble. Silver closes his eyes and lets the orgasm pass over him, the fierce throbbing rushing through his entire frame.

He vaguely registers warmth coating his insides and flowing down his throat in spurts, realises that the cock up his ass and that in his mouth are painfully, impossibly hard, and throbbing. He hears the tinkling notes of the bell throughout, a sickening melody that overlies groans and gasps. Blearily he swallows for all he’s worth, clenches as hard as he can and rocks his hips, trying to milk every drop of come he can get.

Then Hawkeye gently pulls him away from Alpha, he sees the blonde with glazed eyes gasping desperately for breath, and Eckhart tilts his head to press a fierce kiss to his lips. Hawkeye pulls him flush against him, running his hand up his dress, to stroke his cheek, pat his hair gently back into place, strokes his shaking shoulders.

Hawkeye presses a kiss to his neck before pulling out of him slowly, Silver shudders one last time as warmth trickles out of him and down his thighs. Eckhart stands with him, leaving Alpha sprawled on the chair, panting hard, as Silver collapses on his hands and knees, trying to shake the daze from his mind.

Suddenly he feels Hawkeye’s fingers pressing between his corset and his skin and he whines at the slight pain, then there’s coldness pressed there and it doesn’t leave.

‘I’ll admit it darling,’ Hawkeye is murmuring into his ear, his voice sounds faraway and distant, ‘You’re just as good as everyone says you are.’

Hawkeye pats the coin that is stuffed into his corset before zipping up his pants to rejoin Eckhart. He and Alpha share a glance, watching them leave the Nihalian Oasis before bursting out into breathless giggles.

‘I still don’t like taking it in the ass,’ Alpha whispers.

Silver gasps. ‘You were so hard. Don’t lie. Now help me out of this dress…’

'But you look so hot in lace and a collar--'

Silver bolts upright. The key. It's still with Hawkeye. He hurriedly kicks off his heels and forces himself to his feet, rushing unsteadily to the door.

'Hawkeye!'

The two of them are a distance away, chuckling quietly between themselves. Hawkeye turns, surprised. 'Why, darling. What's the matter?'

'T-the key,' he grits out, awkwardly standing in the doorway so nobody on the streets would see his nakedness, not like there was anyone else to see it anyway.

There's confusion in the ginger's eyes before he grins. 'Oh. Oh yes. But I can't give it to you if you're not properly dressed, can I?'

Silver grits his jaws and hurries back to slip his shoes on and buckle them up again. When he looks up, he realises the duo are inside and studying his every move. The sharklike grin is back on Hawkeye's face.

Silver carefully picks himself off the floor and walks over to Hawkeye.

'Can you please grace your little girl with the key to her collar, sir?' murmurs Silver, and he smirks inwardly as Hawkeye's eyes glint.

Hawkeye pats around in his pocket before extracting the little key and handing it to him with unmasked desire. 'You smart-mouthed little shit. Be careful the next time I come around.'

Eckhart gives him an amused smile and Hawkeye mock glares at him one last time before leaving. Immediately he slips off the heels and heads for the toilet, feeling his cheeks start to burn once more.

Alpha follows him, chuckling. ‘I didn’t know you had a thing for dresses, Silver.’

‘I don’t,’ he murmurs. ‘I want it off me as soon as possible.’

Alpha wordlessly helps to unbutton the dress from the corset and starts working at the dead knots in the laces. ‘Pity, though… a little bit more makeup and you’ll be hot —’

Silver shoots his reflection a murderous glare.

The knots are finally undone and he groans as Alpha pulls the leather away from his body, sucking in a huge breath of air.

There’s the recognisable _clink_ of a gold coin on the floor. ‘Not as generous as Belle made him out to be,’ murmurs Silver jokingly as he starts to work on the lock around his collar.

‘Ah… actually, he is.’

He glances at Alpha’s reflection. The blonde is holding up a bill for ten.

Silver’s eye twitches. ‘What?’

‘It fell out of your corset, he must’ve slipped it in.’ Alpha chuckles and presses the note into his palm. ‘Take it. It’s yours, _darling_.’

Alpha laughs at his stunned expression, but his voice is distant and he honestly can’t care less.

The only thing that matters now is that their next meal will be on him.

 

* * *

 

Freud arrives an hour early this Friday night. He’s carrying his briefcase, his blazer is slung over his shoulder, and he’s smiling from ear to ear.

Silver tilts his head slowly, analysing the man positively bubbling with excitement.

Hilla shrugs at him over the counter and motions for him to go, Freud has probably bought him for the entire night.

‘Where are we going?’ he asks, as Freud leads him by the wrist. The bite is fully healed now, but there are still faint scars to mark the wound, and by the looks of it on the tender skin there, it isn’t likely going to be fading away anytime soon.

Freud merely grins at him over his shoulder, and continues pulling him down the sidewalks. He leaves the worrying to Silver, who constantly scans the murky darkness and watches out for thugs and muggers, hoping that his skills have not become too rusty because he’s now defending for two. The streets at night are still dangerous for people like Silver, even though he’s been living here a good number of years already. One must never let his guard down.

They make it safely to the bridge and cross over to the artificial glow of New Leaf City, away from the world that swims in slimy yellow light. Instantly Silver relaxes and can now focus his thoughts on Freud, who is for once silent as the night and is wholly concentrating on getting them to wherever he wants to go.

Silver contemplates this new Freud, who is filled with a new happiness, one that he has never felt in the throes of sex, or in the light conversations over coffee and sandwiches. Freud is just like a little boy, all over again.

He leads Silver to the other end of the city, and Silver carefully memorizes the names of sidewalks and streets so he knows how to get back to Kerning City later. They come to a condominium which is sleek and grand even in the night, lit from inside and out, and Freud’s pace speeds up as he leads Silver into the lobby, punches the button in the elevator that brings them to the highest floor.

The elevator whirrs silently and smoothly as they ascend. Freud’s fingers are drumming against his wrist, as if tapping his fingers any faster will make time speed up. He pulls Silver out the doors before they’re fully open and Silver realises that the entire floor belongs to him, there are only twenty people living in this gigantic building.

‘Silver,’ says Freud, there’s something like sheer relief and excitement in his eyes. ‘There’s someone I want you to meet.’

He swipes his fingerprint across the lock, there’s a beep as the door clicks and unlocks, and it swings inwards.

‘Daddy!’

A shriek echoes through the house, making Silver jump, and Freud drops his things on the landing to snatch up a boy who’s sprinting at full speed towards him.

‘Evan!’ Freud laughs, clutching this squirming bundle of excitement to his chest, Silver fears he might get crushed, ‘I’m home.’

Silver watches the father spin his laughing son around in the air, the two of them are laughing and giggling like little schoolgirls, Freud is nuzzling against little Evan’s cheek and Evan is trying to flee, and he laughs.

‘Evan, look.’ Freud sets Evan down on the floor and kneels beside him, coming level with the boy and pointing up at him. ‘This is Daddy’s new friend, Silver.’

‘Hullo, Uncle Silver,’ waves Evan. Silver smiles at this perfect replica of Freud, same chocolate hair and deep blue eyes, and imagines that one day he will grow to be as kind as his father.

‘Hello.’ Silver squats and extends his hand. Evan, suddenly feeling very important, puffs up and shakes it. ‘It’s really good to meet you.’

‘Please come in,’ snickers Evan, definitely in imitation of Freud, and then he disentangles himself from his father’s grip and pushes the door open wider for them. He practically flies back into the house, yelling about grades and show-and-tell and things he found in school.

‘I didn’t know you had a son,’ Silver murmurs gently, setting his briefcase on the table.

‘I have a family,’ chuckles Freud, averting his eyes as he answers. Silver doesn’t miss the slight bitterness in them. ‘My wife Rhinne passed away when little Evan was born. Complications.’

‘I’m sorry,’ says Silver, and he really is.

Freud waves. ‘Don’t be. It’s in the past now. Coffee?’

‘Sure.’ Silver blinks and nearly crashes into Evan, who is tearing around the house holding up a crudely designed wand.

‘Look, Uncle Silver! I’m a wizard!’ Evan waves it threateningly at him. Silver laughs and pretends to be terrified of this little boy in a red-and-yellow plaid shirt. Evan flings his wand out at him. ‘Magic Missile!’

‘Not at me!’ he yelps. ‘Freud, your son is bullying me!’

Freud grins at them from the kitchen. ‘You get him, boy!’

‘Freud!’ Silver laughs and lets the boy tackle him to the ground, rolling over as Evan straddles him with a stern look and points the wand at him.

‘You be good,’ he narrows his eyes. ‘Or I’ll shoot a fireball at you.’

Silver holds up his hands. ‘Alright, alright. I promise I’ll be good.’

Evan grins and jumps off him, his attention distracted for now and he runs back into his room, yelling incoherently about spells and fire circles and magic mastery.

‘Your son is quite the terror,’ Silver smirks as he gets back on his feet and dusts himself off, taking the cup of coffee from Freud. ‘And thanks for defending me when I was in a pinch.’

‘No problem.’ Freud winks at him and settles into the plush couch, breathing in the scent of freshly brewed coffee.

Silver takes a seat just opposite Freud and slowly sips at his coffee. Evan is quieter now and Silver wonders if he’s up to no good, but at least he can take a better look around the apartment. It’s spacious enough for rowdy boys to run around in, most of the walls lined with bookshelves and packed with books, the surfaces clean and minimalist.

It’s a nice place to live in. Posh, just like New Leaf City, but there isn’t much for a young boy to do here.

‘Your son doesn’t stay here, does he?’ Silver glances over. ‘Boarding school?’

Freud nods. ‘Very astute… You know how I’ve been spending my nights, and sometimes I simply don’t have the time to leave the office at all.’

‘No wonder Evan misses you so much.’ Silver takes another sip of the coffee, letting the rich fluid run down his throat and warm his insides with a comfortable buzz. He decides, objectively, that it tastes even better than the coffee sold at Cafe Lumiere.

‘I feel bad for having to leave him in school, but he’s doing pretty well.’ Freud chuckles as the boy runs out to meet them again.

He’s holding a stuffed dragon in his hands. It’s midnight blue. ‘Look, daddy! This is Afrien!’

‘Hello, Afrien,’ smiles Freud, carefully cradling the dragon plushie in his arms and stroking it like a cat. ‘You’re a magnificent dragon.’

‘Yeah. He’s the _king_ of dragons! His family was killed by an evil wizard and I’ve got to stop him,’ says Evan conspiratorially. He pulls a smaller sky-blue dragon out from under his shirt. ‘This is Mir! Mir’s my partner. Afrien is his daddy, but he doesn’t know it yet,’ he adds on with a whisper, clapping his hands over the little dragon’s ears. ‘It’s a secret.’

‘Wow. What a surprising story,’ says Silver, leaning in. He doesn’t notice Freud’s surprise. ‘Did you come up with it?’

‘All by myself,’ beams Evan, patting his chest. He strokes Mir again firmly. ‘Mir and I are training to become big and strong like Afrien and Dad.’

‘Is Freud a wizard too?’ snickers Silver.

Freud huffs. ‘Of course I am! I’m the strongest wizard.’

‘He’s the smartest one too! Everyone asks him for advice. But he doesn’t sleep or eat so they’re also really angry at him for that.’

Freud laughs, looking apologetic. ‘Well, you got me in one there, Evan. Where’d you get these stuffed toys?’

‘They’re not stuffed! You’ll hurt their feelings,’ Evan clutches Mir protectively. ‘But there was a carnival in school today. I won these by playing whack-a-mole.’

Freud stands and ruffles Evan’s hair. The boy slips his hand into his father’s after he’s done. ‘Oh? Do you work in a farm while I’m away? It seems you have a knack for defending your plot of land.’

Evan giggles. ‘Maybe I work on a chicken farm.’

‘I’m impressed. Such a talented boy I have!’

Evan grins up at Freud as he leads him to his room. Silver scrambles to his feet and follows, curious. ‘I know, but I take after you, Daddy.’

‘You do? I’m very honoured.’ Freud smiles softly as he lifts his son up into his arms and helps him into bed. He pulls the sheets around the squirming boy who is suddenly yawning and rubbing his eyes.

‘But Da-a-ad… I don’t want to sleep yet…’

‘Look at how tired you are. Mir yawned too, didn’t you see that?’

Evan looks at Mir before shaking his head. ‘No… But he’s not sleepy yet is he?’

Silver studies the spacious room, its desk in the corner, the little reading lamp, the tiny chair, the wardrobe, and the box of toys. He likes this room, he realises. There’s a whiteboard with markers and a duster by the side and the walls are plastered over with drawings of a big stickman and a little one. Evan’s shoes are kicked out of the sheets and land on the floor and Silver picks them up, gently setting them by the foot of the bed as Freud sits beside Evan, stroking his hair.

‘Mir may not be sleepy, but you are,’ Silver murmurs softly. Evan’s eyes, lidded with sleep, fight to stay focused on him. ‘How are you going to fight if you’re tired? Daddy and Afrien and Mir will be right here in the morning.’

Evan contemplates and nods before snuggling into the sheets, shuffling closer to Freud. ‘Do you have a meeting tomorrow, Daddy?’

Silver regards the slightly sad smile, and realises that he does.

‘No,’ Freud whispers, running fingers through his son’s hair. ‘I don’t.’

‘Mm,’ Evan nods and closes his eyes. ‘Goodnight, Uncle Silver. Goodnight, Daddy.’

‘Goodnight, Evan.’

Freud bends to press a kiss to the little boy’s forehead. They stay there, Freud gently stroking the boy’s hair until his breathing evens out. The father slowly eases from the bed and casts another fond look at his son, before turning off the light and shutting the door behind him.

 

* * *

 

 

‘She’s beautiful,’ Silver murmurs.

Freud sets down the gold frame and its picture of a couple, the bride framed with silky golden locks and the groom smiling so widely and in such joy that Silver would believe if this man told him that everything was alright with the world.

‘Evan looks exactly like her when he sleeps. So peaceful,’ Freud murmurs, a lonely faraway look in his eyes. ‘I look at them and time… just… _stops_.’

Silver nods in silent agreement.

‘You must think I’m low,’ Freud chuckles. His knuckles tighten around his now-cold cup of coffee. ‘I’m a father and yet I still spend my nights in a brothel rather than with my son.’

Silver narrows his eyes.

‘You may not be the best father out there, but you’re trying your best,’ he says firmly, so fiercely that Freud looks up with surprise, ‘And if Evan is the result of that, I think you’re doing fine.’

‘Thank you.’ Freud smiles, but there’s still an underlying current of doubt in those ocean depths.

Silver nods. It is all that Freud will accept, right now. He changes the subject. ‘What about your meeting?’

‘My meeting…’ Freud laughs. ‘You told my son that I’ll be around. I have to keep that promise, don’t I?’

Silver blinks, surprised. ‘I was joking.’

‘I wasn’t.’ Freud stands and brings their cups to the sink. Over the sound of running water, Silver hears him chuckle.

‘Anyway, Silver… I’ve bought your time for the night, and I intend to make full use of it.’

Silver looks up, slightly horrified. Freud wants to… in his own house, when his son…?

‘Oh, don’t look so shocked,’ Freud grins as he dries off his hands.

‘I don’t want to…’ Silver chokes on the word, it’s such a dirty and foul word to say when sweet little Evan is slumbering peacefully in the next room. He gestures in place of the word. ‘I don’t want to… you know.’

‘I know. I don’t want to either.’ Freud laughs. ‘I don’t think my ass can take it so many times a week…’

Silver is relieved but he doesn’t show it, opting instead to smirk at Freud, a silent challenge.

‘I’m not going to try, you pervert. Just spend the night here, with me, and rest.’

‘What’s wrong with me sleeping in my own room?’ Silver raises an eyebrow.

Freud shrugs. ‘You know. The creaking bed, foul sounds emanating through the walls, the smell of sweat and bodily functions… how is that comfortable?’

‘You’ve been sleeping there for the past week,’ Silver deadpans. ‘The way I see it, you just want my company.’

Freud’s eyes widen slightly in surprise. He probably didn’t expect Silver to call his bluff like that.

‘Then indulge me, Silver. Besides, you’re mine for a night, and you can’t say no.’

Silver rolls his eyes, but he’s still smirking, he’s glad that at least one night of his life will be spent in heaven.

‘Alright, _sir_ ,’ he emphasises with a snicker, ‘Where shall my quarters be?’

Freud chuckles and heads for the bedroom. ‘Definitely not the table, this time. You will sleep on the couch.’

The couch is so soft and so much more comfortable than his bed in the Oasis that Silver is content to simply lie down and sleep right there and then. But Freud still spends a while digging up a spare quilt and pillow, deaf to his protestations, and dumps the pile on him with a satisfied grin.

Silver glares at him over the pile and shakes the pillow off his head.

Then Freud leads him to the bathroom and before he leaves, he tells him to use anything he wants, to take his time.

He studies the bathtub and the shower. He can’t remember the first time he took a bath, can’t remember if he ever did. So it can’t hurt, can it? He lets the water run, undressing and hanging his clothes neatly on empty hooks while waiting for the bath to settle at a comfortable temperature.

Then he slips into the warm water and almost melts against the side of the tub. Silver closes his eyes, smiling. He doesn’t remember the last time he felt so relaxed. After the furious sex he had earlier, he is tired, more from exhaustion than anything else. But with the warm water caressing him everywhere, he feels his troubles almost soak out of his skin. He sits there for a while more and almost forgets to wash.

Finally he drains the water and steps out the tub, drying himself off on a towel so large and fluffy that he would be glad to use it as a blanket. He dresses in the soft shirt and pants Freud prepared, uses the spare toothbrush that was left on the sink for him, and shakes his hair out around his shoulders before he opens the door.

Freud is waiting for him beside the pile of sheets on the couch. Silver almost halts in his tracks from the softness in his eyes. The shadows are gone, the distant and sad look is now nothing but a trick of the light, and Freud actually looks… younger. He doesn’t know why, but seeing him on the couch with that look suddenly makes sense somehow.

Like Freud has finally come home.

The man gets up, still smiling softly, and heads for the bathroom. Silver sinks into the couch and pulls the sheets tightly around him, trying to prop the pillow underneath his head. Then he gives up and simply opts for clutching the pillow in his arms. He nuzzles into it and is strangely pleased to find that it smells faintly of Freud.

He is warm, and comfortable, and safe.

He is asleep in no time, breathing softly, and smiling when fingers are run through his hair.

For the first time in a time too long, Silver drops his guard, and rests. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Died writing it once during the smut and then died another time writing little Evan out.
> 
> DID YOU SEE HOW MANY MAPLE REFERENCES I USED? I'm actually a little proud of myself. 
> 
> Also, Evan, you're /such/ a cute little squirt.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No smut in this chapter (un)fortunately,   
> what did you expect this to be a wholly smut centric fic?   
> Nah son B)

For a moment, Silver can’t remember where he is. The ceiling is not yellowed but coated with white paint that isn’t flaking, there are soft sheets tucked comfortably around him, and the place smells sweet, like cocoa.

He’s not in the Nihalian Oasis.

Silver bolts upright, body tensed, eyes darting around to try and figure out where he is. He sees the spacious room, the clean walls, a little boy seated and hunched over a coffee table, a little miniature version of Freud in sky blue pyjamas and tousled auburn hair.

It’s only Evan. He lets himself relax and blink away the sleep from his eyes, stretching languidly before getting up. Evan hears him and turns as he slips off the couch and kneels down beside him.

‘Hullo! Good morning,’ says Evan brightly.

Silver blinks at the papers strewn over the coffee table. ‘… Good morning. You’re working so early in the morning?’

Evan makes a rude face at the book in front of him. ‘I’m doing my homework. Daddy says it’s good to finish things early so I can go play and not worry about it.’

The clock hanging on the wall reads five past seven. The sun isn’t even fully out yet.

‘Well, your daddy has a point.’ He glances down at Evan’s work and almost balks, many of these words are words he hasn’t even seen before. Diagrams with test tubes and strange formulas fill most of the pages.

‘Dad’s smart,’ Evan mumbles, picking up his eraser to work at his answer before rewriting carefully in the space he’d made. ‘I’m going to become as smart as Dad one day, and help out in his business. We’ll make a great team.’

Silver chuckles, imagining this little boy grown up, a younger version of Freud, carefully looking over manuscripts with his father. ‘I’m sure you will.’

Evan talks distractedly to him as he writes, filling in his science homework. Silver notes some of Freud’s mannerisms in the young boy, the way he gestures, the slight tilt of the head as he thinks, the way his eyes tweak upwards at the corners when he smiles.

But Evan is very different from Freud. Evan is a bundle of pure innocence, and he’s happy to talk about his feelings. He trusts too easily in a stranger that his father brought home for the first time. Silver makes a mental note to ask Freud about this, but for now he’s happy to hear Evan talk, enjoying the simplicity of his emotions.

A part of him silently wishes Freud could lower his guard like that, just for a while.

He gets up when Evan finishes his science homework, heading over to the washroom to freshen up. The dark haired man staring back at him from the mirror is a man he hasn’t seen for far too long. The rings are gone from beneath his eyes. There’s a slight twinkle in his pupils before he becomes conscious of it and it vanishes.

He has no idea why, so he just chalks it up to a good night’s sleep.

Over in the kitchen, Silver doesn’t know which pan is for what, so he just picks the least expensive looking one and combs through the fancy metal utensils until he finds a trusty wooden spoon to work with. The ingredients all smell and look amazingly fresh, even though they’ve probably sat in Freud’s refrigerator for the whole week. But he’s all too happy to work with these.

Evan is talking again, swinging his legs on the countertop as he watches Silver cook. He’s talking about this girl in his class. ‘… And she’s really cute too. She has the prettiest golden hair. She likes fishing and collecting acorns.’

‘Is that so?’

‘Yeah. Lania’s very nice. She helps me out with homework when I’m confused…’ Evan chuckles sheepishly, ‘Which is pretty often.’

‘She sounds like a good friend to have.’ Silver dishes out the mix of eggs, chunks of bread, vegetables and ham slices into three plates. The smell reminds him of home, and a time too long ago.

Evan hums and sniffs the air appreciatively, eyes locked on the food. ‘She’s cute. She loves her daddy a lot, too. We’re quite alike.’

‘It’s good to have friends who understand how you feel — Hey, no stealing!’

Evan pulls his hand away, sulking like Silver had just smacked him. ‘But I’m hungry. And it smells so good.’

‘I hope it is.’ Silver transfers the plates onto a tray carefully, mock glaring at him. ‘Your dad can cook a mean steak.’

Evan sulks harder and hops off the counter, brandishing the forks as he trots after Silver. ‘He cooked for you? No fair! He doesn’t do that very often anymore.’

'Ah, I’ll have to scold him for that.’

Evan grins up at him and Silver smirks back in response.

‘Dad was up late again yesterday too,’ whispers Evan loudly, blocking the door to the master bedroom. ‘And he left his briefcase on the floor. And he didn’t wash his cup. And he didn’t brush his teeth before bed —’

The boy seems intent on getting his father into more trouble.

‘Evan! How’d you know he slept late yesterday?’

‘Dad usually wakes up earlier than me. Scold him, Uncle Silver!’

‘And how’d you know he didn’t brush his teeth?’

‘I checked,’ grins Evan. ‘I woke up to pee and his toothbrush was dry.’

‘That’s terrible! That won’t do, now would it.’

‘Nu uh!’

Exasperated at both father and son, Silver shakes his head, smiling. ‘I will scold him eventually. Now open the door.’

Evan grins wider and carefully cracks open the door, letting the light spill into the darkened room.

It is the first time Silver allows himself to get a good look at Freud while he sleeps.

Only the man’s nose and eyes peep out from beyond the thick sheets, his hair a mess and spilling all over his face. His hands are fisted tightly in the blankets and he’s curled up, his chest rising and falling gently on his side of the bed in the half-darkness of drawn blinds.

The other side of the bed remains painfully empty.

Silver rescues the metal forks from the boy’s hand before Evan sneaks under the sheets with all the fluid stealth of a cat, a little lump under the sheets that moves closer and closer to the headboard.

Evan’s head pops out from the sheets, smiling as he snuggles up to his father, who doesn’t even stir as the boy inches closer still. They look so incredibly alike, this innocent boy full of happiness beside this peacefully sleeping, beautiful and handsome man. If only time could stop and freeze this scene forever.

Of course, it’s not to last, especially given a young boy’s patience.

But instead of violently waking his father up, Evan only shifts and gently pats the man’s shoulder.

‘Daddy, it’s time for breakfast,’ he whispers, making his father stir and mumble incoherently.

Freud’s brow twitches one last time before he opens his eyes, two sapphires glazed slightly over in sleep as he tries to remember where he is. Then he smiles.

‘Good morning, Evan.’

Evan smiles and burrows into the man’s neck with a chirp. ‘Good morning, daddy.’

There’s a pang in Silver’s heart as Freud reaches over and hugs the squirming boy to him, planting a kiss on his brown locks.

‘Good morning, Silver,’ smiles Freud, voice slightly slurred from sleep as he sits up in bed with Evan sprawled in his lap. A strange softness is in his eyes.

‘Good morning.’ Silver works his throat and sits at the edge of the mattress.

‘Silver made breakfast, dad! It smells great!’

Evan eagerly relieves Silver of two plates and forks. His father accepts his share with a soft chuckle. ‘You can’t start yet, Evan.’

The boy pauses with the fork midway to his mouth. ‘ThankyouforbreakfastUncleSilver,’ he blurts out, before shoving the food in and chewing with sounds of delight.

Freud ruffles Evan’s hair before forking some of the bread chunks into his mouth. His eyes light up. _‘Wow_ , Silver. This tastes amazing. Thank you.’

‘My mother used to cook this,’ Silver lowers his eyes and concentrates on eating. ‘I’m glad you like it.’

‘I do. Very much.’

‘Me too, Uncle Silver! Dad, you should cook more! Cook with him!’

‘Oh, Evan. You know how busy I am… and you’re not home to taste my cooking.’

‘Send it to school! Please dad, please —’

Silver listens to them bicker, carefully cleaning his plate of every scrap of food, though his appetite has long gone. But his mercenary instincts kick in, force his hand to move, his mouth to chew, his throat to work the food down. Nobody asks about his mother, but nobody needs to know.

Her remains were packed in a box addressed to the Silver Moon.

In his gut is a coiling mass that is half envy, half guilt, from the knowledge that he will never truly have a place here, in Freud’s house. He has no place in the warm acceptance of family, no matter whose it is. Not if he wants to end up destroying it.

Just like how he burned that box, watched it raze in a deserted part of the city. He stayed until there was nothing left but ash. Then he left the pile of smoldering bits for Kerning City, leaving behind the last material object connecting him to the world.

Sure, there are no more loose ends anywhere, he’d had them all taken care of long before this man with his red blazer and split image for a son appeared in his life. He wouldn’t need to burn anything if anything went awry.

He could never let Freud walk around in his shoes. Not even for a day.

It had only taken a trip down to his information trader to make him give up his ways.

It hadn’t even been ten minutes.

 

* * *

 

 

Silver does the washing up, listening to Freud help Evan with his homework. Evan is groaning to the high heavens, much to Freud’s amusement, but the man remains patient to teach and the boy remains willing to learn. The morning wears away into the afternoon, with father and son carefully working away at the pile of workbooks. Silver quietly helps himself to one of Evan’s textbooks and teaches himself about laboratory methods, things he is glad he will never need to know about.

And when he quietly asks Freud why Evan will ever need to remember all this, Freud only gives this odd, resigned smile and says, ‘Well, it’s what the school wants them to know. It’s necessary for their future, I suppose.’

‘Evan wants to be a publisher like you, not a scientist,’ retorts Silver, unconvinced.

Freud chuckles quietly. ‘Is that so. I thought he wanted to be a wizard.’

The stony expression in Freud’s eyes tells Silver that the conversation is over. But there’s no mistaking that Freud doesn’t approve of Evan’s schooling either.

Freud bids Evan to get changed and himself leads Silver to his walk-in wardrobe. It’s half-full, all white suits, ties of various colors, mostly reds and golds. The sky blue one is nowhere to be seen. Freud starts sliding hangers around and Silver balks when Freud hands him one.

‘Here. Get changed.’

He has never laid hands on clothes that are this expensive, only when undressing his clients. ‘I couldn’t possibly —’

‘You can’t go in pyjamas and yesterday’s clothes smell like sex and sweat.’ Freud hooks the hanger onto the collar of Silver’s shirt and turns around to choose another set for himself.

Heat rises in his cheeks even though it’s clear Freud means no harm. It is the first time it has mattered to him. The smell.

What he does.

He heads to the washroom as Freud closes the door to the walk-in. He fights to work down the knot in his throat. It’s shame, he realises as he changes. The lump is all shame, self-loathing, disgrace. And yet another reason why he can never ever afford to fall in love with Freud. How can he, if he is but a prostitute who sells his body for some measly coins?

Suddenly bile rises at the back of his throat. He halts in the midst of pulling his pants up, trying to swallow the bitter acid, it’s especially difficult to with the hard lump there —

 _You’ve deep-throated harder cocks than that_ , a tiny little voice whispers.

He spits out whatever bile he can into the sink and rinses out his mouth before getting dressed in the white shirt picked out for him. Unconsciously he takes a deeper breath as he pulls the fabric up his sleeves, but the faint whiff of Freud’s scent only serves to make his gut churn.

The brunette is buttoning up a sky blue shirt in the mirror. The color fits him much better than on a tie. Freud beckons him over and adjusts his collar properly. The spots on his neck where Freud accidentally brushed across the skin feel like they have been scratched raw.

They stand shoulder to shoulder and only then does he realise that Freud is about a head taller than him. He straightens, tilts his chin up a little, furrowing his brow at how the raven-haired man in the mirror suddenly looks smart enough to belong in New Leaf City.

Freud, who is now only half a head taller than him, laughs. ‘Don’t worry, you still look at handsome as ever.’ He lets himself be pulled by the wrist into the walk-in, catching faintly the smell of women’s perfume, and spies the box in a corner of the shelf.

‘Pick a coat.’

‘For what?’

Freud tilts his head, smiling in amusement. ‘It’s spring and still a little cold out.’

‘I don’t need one.’

‘I don’t need you catching a chill,’ Freud raises an eyebrow. This, Silver wagers, is the kind of no-nonsense voice Freud uses when Evan is being difficult.

‘Fine, _dad_ ,’ he makes an exaggerated show of rolling his eyes. He will never admit that he is touched by Freud’s concern. He carefully sifts through the coats, they all look so horrifically expensive, and he doesn’t want to ruin any of them. After mentally pulling faces at the coats, he’s about to pull the most inexpensive looking coat out when Freud stays his hand.

‘Oh, you’re not taking that one,’ smirks Freud, a twinkle in his eyes.

Silver doesn’t let go of the hanger. ‘And why not?’

‘I know you’re going for the cheapest one.’ Freud taps his cheek. ‘Now let go and I’ll let you choose one.’

Grumbling, Silver does as Freud says. He can’t help but wince as Freud picks out two pieces he would never have taken, they look so valuable. But they look so smart too. Freud has planned the choices carefully, they both look equally expensive, and Freud knows this. There’s no choice but to pick one he thinks fits him more, a dark olive leather piece that hugs his waist when he buttons up. The inside of the lapels are soft grey, bold scarlet trimmings on the shoulders.

‘Stop sulking, you had lots to say about the color of my tie the last time we met,’ grins Freud, slipping into a white cloak that falls to his mid thigh. Silver admires his lean frame, realising for the first time how clothes with the right cutting can make a man look more refined than he already is.

‘It really looked bad on you,’ Silver protests weakly, following Freud out into the living room.

‘So does that cheap coat you picked out. You really deserve better.’

 

* * *

 

 

Spring is a happy affair in New Leaf City. There’s rich, emerald grass along the sidewalk, wildflowers like gems amidst the blades. A gentle breeze, fresh and exhaust-free air, the sound of birdsong and most importantly, the bubbling laughter of a little boy and his daddy.

Evan has his hand carefully tucked in Freud’s, he’s a little ball of layers with a bright red cotton hoodie. They both seem to fancy red — like father like son, muses Silver — but Evan has one thing that Freud doesn’t: mild spring allergies. He sniffs as he talks and sneezes every so often, a cute little sound that has Silver chuckling despite the situation.

The coat keeps out the chill pretty well, to Silver’s surprise — he couldn’t afford a coat even in winter so he just made do and taught himself to ward off the chill by walking about, by sheer willpower, or by staying home. He does have his scarf, though, and that’s enough. But while wearing a coat is not as stifling as he expected, he’s still thankful Freud offered light ones for him to wear.

But he can’t help but feel out of place in a coat. He misses his scarf.

They’re headed out to buy a new school bag for Evan, somehow he’d managed to tear it and break the zipper too (Silver offered to mend it, but Evan had lots of loud objections about that). They’re headed back in the direction of the canal. They pass by Cafe Lumiere and through the glass, Silver spies the white uniform of the man they call the Master Thief Phantom, talking animatedly to a blonde lady in a blue silk dress.

She’s sitting with her back to the window, even from this angle she looks very beautiful, all curves and grace.

New Leaf Mall, as it is innovatively called, is a wide sprawling behemoth of a building. Cars fill the parking lot and people are everywhere, smiling in the sun — mothers carrying kids and fathers lifting groceries into the trunks of SUVs, teenagers loitering and he sees the white cup of coffee and its blue insignia, a group of office workers in smart blazers chatting as they head in for lunch.

The mall’s insides are sleek metal and glass, brightly lit shops and polished surfaces, immeasurable wealth glittering in the display windows, smiling shopkeepers beckoning him in. There is no bargaining, no heckling, no greedy swipes at money; everything is pressed into plastic cards, here.

Evan presses close to Freud in the crowd as they make their way to one of the shops. He waits patiently as Evan picks out a bag he likes, noting with a smile that the boy goes straight for the red ones. While he waits, Silver receives smiles from the strangers that pass by and he’s confused until Freud whispers in his ear, ‘They’re being friendly. It’s what they do here.’

Friendly? They won’t be in the least bit _friendly_ if Silver hadn’t borrowed Freud’s clothes. ‘I see,’ he snorts, carefully schooling his expression to hide the smirk curling the edge of his lip.

‘You do indeed,’ replies Freud, the expression in his eyes telling Silver he knew all too well the reason for Silver’s indignation.

Silver smiles back at those who smile at him, only because it’s what Freud would do here.

They spend an hour picking up more pens and notebooks, a storybook for Evan and a book about world history for Freud, before they head for lunch. At a fast food joint, Freud orders burgers and fries for the lot of them, much to Evan’s delight. The bread is crunchy on the outside, fluffy on the inside, the patties are dripping with gravy and it’s impossible to be neat. Not like Freud or Evan care in the least, Evan’s laughing at the smear of brown sauce across his father’s face, and Freud’s trying to wipe it off on the back of his hand.

‘Let me get that,’ Silver grins, balling up some serviettes. Freud leans over for him to reach and Silver carefully works at the sauce on his face, making sure he didn’t miss a single spot.

Then he hears the voice of a little girl the table opposite him. She’s pointing at him, her eyes wide and innocent as she clambers over her mother’s lap to look over her shoulder. ‘Look ma! Why does that man have such long hair? That’s weird.’

He sees Freud’s expression harden. ‘It’s alright, Freud,’ Silver hurriedly and quietly reassures him.

‘But that’s rude,’ says Evan hotly.

Silver smiles thankfully at the boy. ‘Don’t worry.’

The mother on the other table tries to hush her daughter, but the girl becomes ever more determined. ‘Boys shouldn’t have long hair. School makes you cut it short. Does it mean he’s girly?’

He’s heard this so many times before, but the word _girly_ makes his insides twist. Hawkeye’s jeering rises to memory.

Now he knows Leaf City doesn’t care much for gays.

‘What? Does that mean he’s the mommy?’

He loses his appetite and puts down the burger.

‘Hullo there,’ Freud is saying to the girl with a calm and gentle smile, ‘I’d just like to clarify that we’re just friends having a meal.’

He cannot be a mommy, he cannot be _the_ mommy, he cannot be the mommy while Freud is the daddy, he cannot possibly taint Evan too.

_He doesn’t belong here._

‘I’m so sorry, she has too much sugar this morning…’

_He can’t belong here._

‘We understand. No need to be sorry. It would be good for you to remember to speak softly too, okay dear?’

_He’s scum._

‘Yeah! Don’t talk about Uncle Silver like that. It’s not nice.’

‘Silver is a girl’s name, perfect for a mommy, you know —’

‘Excuse me,’ Silver stands, avoiding eye contact, he doesn’t have the right to look into Freud’s eyes, or into Evan’s, doesn’t have the right to stay in Freud’s clothes. He pulls the cloak off and drapes it across the chair and says, as evenly as he can manage with that lump of a cock inside his throat, ‘I have to go.’

‘Silver, please don’t,’ protests Freud, trying to take his hand.

He busies his hands pulling lunch money from his pockets so Freud can’t hold them. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll wash these clothes and return them to you as soon as I can.’

‘Uncle Silver —’

He all but flings the tenner he got from Hawkeye on the table, he hates giving money to Freud so rudely but he can’t bear to hold it, his fingers are trembling too, he can’t stop them. Without a backward glance he strides out the mall, back into the chill of spring, his breath drawing mist in the air.

It’s colder than usual, the grass looks so green it’s fake, the blue skies are too cheerfully mocking him from above, the sun burning a shadow into the sidewalk that cannot possibly be darker than the shade of all his sins combined. He lets himself slouch, looks down so his hair hides his face, doesn’t smile at the people smiling at him. He needs to get as far away as he can from this clean, manicured place.

He runs.

Only when he's across the canal and the scent of sooty air and exhaust hits him does he slow, panting hard. The pigeons are waiting by his spot in the park, they crowd around him, but this time he doesn’t have bread. He strides through the flock, scattering the confused fowl in all directions. He just wanders aimlessly around the city, relearning the roads and buildings over and over, until dusk falls.

Then he fits the key into the lock of the door that reads Employees Only, grips the slimy handle to open it, and slips into the putrid darkness within.

He changes back into one of his thin cotton crewnecks and slacks, hanging up Freud’s clothes properly before he lies on the floor. The room smells foul, like sex and sweat and dried come. Paint is flaking off the walls. The pallid fluorescent lamp above him flickers, leaking dead light into the dead room. The hardness against his back, the cold of the floor seeps into him, and gnaws at his bones, but he welcomes it.

It’s a physical reminder that he’s back. Back in the filth of Kerning City, in a room of a brothel called the Nihalian Oasis.

This is where he belongs.

Far away from New Leaf City, far away from Evan, far away from Freud.

The pang in his heart reminds him why he didn't want to fuck that perfect man all those nights ago. He flings an arm over his eyes, bites on his wrist, opens the scars and bleeds them. But the pain doesn't ease.

He's such a fool. Oh, such a fool. 

Home is anywhere but Freud.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just in case -
> 
> TW: abuse, painplay, bloodplay

The highway is a few blocks away but Silver can always hear the drone of cars faintly in the background from all the way in his room.

Usually the sound lends him comfort. Comfort, that in this rushing flow of strangers, he is just one man amongst so many others, no more tainted or no less holy than the rest of them. They will never know what he did at night even if they passed him on the streets, because the hollow throb of engines drown out the sound of sex, and the steel machines whisper secrets about redemption for even the most crooked of souls, souls such as he.

Now, the sound of rubber grinding against hot asphalt accompanies him as he lies, bathed in dead light from cheap plastic fluorescent lamps, and relearns the shape of the void in his chest where Freud fits perfectly.

Silver realises after a while that for once, he wants a hole to remain unfilled.

 

* * *

 

 

He needs more than two hands to count the number of wrappers under the bed, another hand for the number of dried rubbers, and a finger for the soiled briefs nestled behind a box of questionable origin.

The broom closet around the back is full of stained sheets. The smell is so rancid and sour that he has to press his hand against his nose and mouth to stop from retching. As quickly as he can he wades through the pile to locate the frayed excuse for a broom.

It takes a while to sweep up all the trash but he does it, also finding a punctured enema bag amidst dried up corpses of bugs. He dumps it all in the trash out back, then comes back in with a bucket, fills it with warm water, adds soap.

He gets on his knees and begins scrubbing at the stained tiles with a rag. There’s a bleached patch near the bedpost but it stays, stubborn as the memory of Freud’s smile he’s been trying to rid of.

More soap is dumped into the mix. This time it fades slightly under his ruthless scouring. But he can still see the yellowed outline of the smear and suddenly he is seized with the fear that he will never quite get rid of it all. The stain has to go, everything has to go, he needs the floor clean, he needs clean, untainted, unmarred.

The Oasis’s last bottle of bleach is toppled under the sink in the dressing room outside. He undoes the cap as he walks back and is surprised to find himself having difficulty, his hands are starting to tremble. It takes sizeable effort to stop himself from upturning the whole bottle onto the stain.

With an almost real desperation he picks up the rag and scrubs. He grips the cloth so tight his knuckles ache, churning up foam, putting his weight into it and his breath comes harder, rougher, as he grinds the cloth against the unforgiving floor, the yellowed outline teases him with glances through the bubbles of soap and bleach like crests on ocean waves that belong in Freud’s eyes —

Someone grabs his shoulder.

Years of mercenary instincts and his strung nerves make him a coil of energy, lend him lightning quick speed to wrench the arm of his attacker around to his back and slam him face-first into the ground.

‘Ow! Fuck, Silver, it’s just me!’

Finally able to see the man, he recognises the back of the blonde pinned beneath him, arm twisted at an uncomfortable angle.

‘Shit, Lotus,’ he swears, letting go. ‘Sorry, I didn’t know it was you.’

Lotus groans and rolls over, rubbing the life back into his arm. Silver helps him up and props him against the bedpost.

‘What on earth are you doing here anyway?’ Lotus scowls, ‘You’re not on shift yet.’

Only now does Silver notice the baritones of lounge music throbbing through the walls, and realises that the Nihalian Oasis is open for business. He picks up his rag and tries to sop up the water. ‘Nothing.’

There is silence, and Lotus only folds his arms.

‘You look like shit,’ he says after a long while.

Silver wipes up the last of the soap and tosses the rag into the bucket, not replying.

Lotus studies him with a glinting, purple eye.

‘It’s Freud, isn’t it.’

The name makes his heart twist and he feels his brows furrow slightly before he can think of what to do. He wants to delve back into the memories tainted with gentle blue eyes and soft brown hair but he stops himself, resists the sweet, sweet temptation to exhale the name under muted breath and feel it roll off his lips. He swallows it all down and eventually stands to carry the bucket back to the toilet.

While he tips the water back into the sink Lotus starts talking.

‘Your mood improved ever since he came here. I’m surprised. Never saw you as one who’d care so much for the company of a single man.’

Flecks of soggy dirt float on the surface of milky water, slowly chugging down the drain.

‘He’s not even from around here, which makes it all the more amusing.’ Lotus chuckles and makes a sound of contempt. ‘The New Leaf dweller. Can smell it off them from miles, the stench of uppity pride.’

He knows what Lotus refers to. It’s the way the residents of New Leaf City talk and behave, as if they own the world. As if they have conquered one realm and are now of a higher order, looking down their crumbling neighbours just across the canal. The city is enshrouded with naivety, those sleek glass buildings sculptures that reach for heaven.

But Freud doesn’t seem at home, not in New Leaf City. Freud knows the city’s lies and flaws, only keeping to its rules because he needs to seem at home, because he has a family and he needs to be accepted.

‘It amuses me though. Why he’d come all the way here for you. Use the rest of his time when he’s not working to come all the way here… on foot no less.’

It’s a question that has plagued Silver every night as he settles at his spot by the window and listens to the empty hum of cars passing by, punctured only by even breaths coming from the bed.

‘I give him a good fuck,’ he murmurs as an answer, fingers tightly gripping the rim of the bucket.

Lotus purrs, voice slimy with contempt. ‘Oh? And I assume you fucked him good and hard all night long yesterday? Does he beg to be stuffed full of cock? Does he look cute fucked out of his mind?’

Silver bristles.

The sink is almost empty. Some of the dust clings stubbornly to the grimy porcelain and he resists the urge to pick at it.

‘You know what I’m talking about. Since he bought all your time the last night. And the night before, and the night before that. I wonder how loose his ass is after all that fucking.’

He finds his grip on the bucket tightening.

The youth laughs. ‘Just teasing. Of course you didn’t fuck him all night. Not even you could stand so much of it, that’s why we work in shifts. So why does he spend his precious time in the company of a cumslut like you? To think a man like him has such poor standards.’

Ice gathers around his fingertips, his heart starts to race.

‘All these possibilities.’

Lotus hums an offbeat melody that stirs something dangerous that he thought he had killed and left behind before he came here to Kerning City.

‘Maybe he wants to forget that he’s gay and lonely. Or… or maybe he does have a family, one who doesn’t know he’s a whore just like you. Maybe he has an affair on the side because his wife won’t fuck him with a dildo.’

To let go, to whirl around and slam the plastic bucket against the grinning blonde. Use one hand to hold Lotus’s wrists at the small of his back, the other to drive his face against the flaking plaster, against glistening liquid ruby flowing from his broken nose.

To say ‘Don’t you dare say such things about him,’ then twist his shoulders harder and snarl, ‘He’s not like that.’

It is so easy.

‘Why’re you so interested?’ Silver murmurs instead, setting the bucket down gently.

‘Because it might be fun for me.’

Lotus is smiling widely, a predatory glint in his eyes, with his chin propped up on the back of his hand. It is this casual side to the youth that Silver is wary of, that has kept Silver at a distance despite the usual bored expression that is otherwise on his pale face.

‘I don’t know how you survive in here. You’re too unguarded,’ Lotus says blandly. ‘I was just fucking around with you before.’

‘Had your fill?’ Silver folds his arms.

Lotus deadpans, ‘Of what? Chasing after Freud and hoping desperately he’d fall in love with you? Spending time with him but feeling like you’ve committed a sin? Or wishing that you’d never met him in the first place?’

The words make the truth real, too real.

Lucky guess or observant statements, Lotus has struck the last nail in his coffin, and Silver wishes he can lie down and never need to see the light of day again.

The void in his chest throbs, aches, grows, he doesn’t dare try to even get a glimpse of its shape or form, he’s afraid it will swallow him whole.

‘Listen, Silver.’ Lotus is standing now but Silver still has to tilt his head down to meet the shorter youth’s gaze. ‘I haven’t had a good scene this entire week. I know the shit you’re going through and I can help you forget just for a while, what do you say?’

‘I don’t feel like being fucked today.’

‘You’re cute.’ Lotus pats his cheek. ‘I want you on your knees, naked, outside my door, in ten minutes.’

Silver stops him just as he turns to leave. ‘This a joke to you?’

‘No,’ smirks Lotus, not unfazed at all, ‘I just want to let my sadist side out for a while. Is that too difficult?’

‘So it’s a game rather than a joke. Not interested.’

Lotus turns around. This time there is something glinting in the depths of his eyes, something immense and dangerous and hungry that is lurking in the amethyst shadows.

‘I intend to get my share of flesh today, Silver. And I know I’ll get it. Know why?’

Silver carefully keeps his expression schooled. Lotus grabs his wrist, thumbs the scars from where Silver had bitten to muffle his voice. It’s still sore.

‘Because I can read you like a fucking book. I know you’re hiding things, but you want to get rid of them. And I’m just dying to get inside your head and rip you apart piece by piece, which is what you will let me do.’

Brave words, for a kid who’s just guessing.

‘If you can read me that well, tell me one thing new.’ Silver smirks. ‘Something I didn’t dare to admit to myself.’

Lotus lets go of him and takes a few steps backward. Silver scoffs quietly into the silence and turns to head to bed.

‘For a while you were thinking of marrying him,’ Lotus says.

Silver stops in his tracks.

The youth laughs. ‘Eight minutes, Silver. And come mentally prepared. They say I can break a person and make him almost possessed, and though I wish that were true, you’d better heed their words.’

 

* * *

 

 

It has been more than eight minutes for sure, and more than ten, probably more than twenty. Silver keeps his head bowed, his hands clenched and on his thighs, just to the side of the door to Lotus’s room. From here he is in full view from the people sitting at the tables and chairs next to the low stage, but he ignores their catcalls and whistles and patiently waits, a good sub, though he is reluctant.

At last, the door opens. He sees black shoes on the landing, with white leather wrapping around his slender, almost effeminate legs. They would look like socks if not for the light rippling off the shiny, sleek surface.

‘Put these on.’

Silver blinks as Lotus hands him a pair of earphones. Wordlessly he reaches up to take it and plugs them into his ears. They’re already playing static, white noise, a little too loud but it drowns out the low music and the talking.

He looks up and Lotus smirks down at him. He’s decked in a fitting, shiny black leather top with golden trims, and he’s in that damn leather trenchcoat that reminds Silver of a cow’s hide. But it is Lotus who will be setting the pace and for that he keeps his comments to himself.

Lotus says something but Silver can’t hear it over the static. When he reaches up to pull one of the buds out his ears, Lotus’s voice rings clearly. ‘No, it’s alright. I was just testing.’

‘You’re using a microphone?’ Silver’s voice is muted even to himself. The only indication that he’s talking are his lips and tongue moving.

As reply, Lotus taps the small purple badge on his leather top and the hollow thump of the impact sounds in Silver’s ears.

‘Can everyone hear you?’

‘No. Only if I speak loud enough.’ Lotus grins then, a white sickle in his already pale face. ‘Don’t worry. Nobody else will know your dirty little secrets. I’m a good keeper.’

Somehow, though he knows Lotus is mocking him, Silver finds himself strangely appreciative.

‘Safe words?’

‘Moon.’

‘What kind of shitty safeword is that? Red, yellow. Red, I’ll stop; yellow, I’ll be nice. Here, tie up your hair.’ Lotus tosses him a crimson hair tie. ‘Higher. I want your back exposed.’

Silver adjusts his hair until Lotus is satisfied. The blond studies him and smirks. ‘Nice, isn’t it, sensory deprivation? Not being able to hear what’s going on. Though you can’t hear yourself scream, which is a pity.’ He beckons Silver down the short flight of stairs. ‘Crawl.’

With one final glance at Lotus, he moves forwards on his hands and knees, carefully maneuvering down the steps with Lotus by his side. The floor is filled with people. It’s a Saturday night, happy hour, everyone drinking the piss excuses for cocktails as they turn to him with interest. Lotus strides forward confidently, his trenchcoat billowing out behind him. Silver is so blase about his surroundings, seen it so many times that he’s already numbed, and he doesn’t bother checking to see if they’re jeering.

Lotus leads Silver up on the stage, grabs a riding crop from the shelf nearby and taps his calf. Silver crawls over, again resting his weight on his calves, fists on his thighs and head bowed, the posture of an obedient sub, and waits. Lotus is probably talking to the audience, he can’t tell for sure over the noise in his ears, but he has seen some of the demonstrations that Lotus has done with Orchid as his sub, and so he knows the protocol.

Lotus is strict and demanding. Unlike Eckhart, Lotus is ruthless. Often Silver emerges from his room after a customer has left, only to hear the cries of Lotus’s subs ringing shrilly over the music, strained pleas for relief or mercy or both. Once he had seen Lotus sitting idly, one hand up a girl’s clit with his fingers glistening wetly from her juices, the other tapping away at his phone, calmly ignoring her begging and protests.

Silver tries to remember if he has seen Lotus take a male sub before, but nobody comes to mind.

The audience starts to shift, some leaning over to talk to their partners, some dropping hands to their crotches, and Silver knows that the act is about to begin.

‘On your feet.’

He obeys. Lotus produces a set of spreader bars, tapping on his ankles with the crop until they are wide enough, and locks each ankle firmly in place. He holds up another spreader bar, this one slightly smaller, and locks his wrists into the cuffs at the ends. Silver’s hands are hoisted just above his head by a length of chain threaded through one of the many rings in the ceiling.

He can’t even hear the chain rattling over the noise in his ears. But he can see the audience watching him intently, he can see Lotus smirking at his discomfort.

Satisfied with Silver’s bonds, Lotus opens his mouth. The static cuts off and Lotus’s voice, so unbearably loud that it drowns out all his other thoughts, fills his skull.

‘Tonight my aim is not to make you feel good.’ Lotus bounces the crop deftly off his palm. ‘There will be no pleasure involved, only pain. I will not punish or discipline.  I don’t expect you to count, I only expect you to take everything I dish out to you. I will not tell you what is coming next, or how many strikes. Because tonight you are only a body for my whims and fancies.’

Lotus smirks.

‘I will let you cum once tonight, any time you want. But only once. And only by the crop or the paddle or my hand against your ass. And after you cum, if you do cum at all, I will make sure you don’t leak a single drop for the rest of your time with me.’

He can’t stop a shiver running down his frame at the carnal tone in Lotus’s voice.

‘I will not stop when your limit is reached. I will only stop when I am satisfied. Or, of course, if you use your safe word, whichever comes first. But I don’t expect you to cave so fast.’

Lotus lifts taps the crop against his cheek and Silver leans in, nuzzling against the implement that will soon be painting stripes across his body, because doms like Lotus like it.

He is rewarded with Lotus’s voice dropping a notch, becoming huskier, more syrupy as he says, ‘Do you understand?’

‘Yes sir.’

With a wider, more satisfied smirk, Lotus reaches over to the shelf and extracts a leather blindfold. Silver tilts his head down so Lotus can buckle the straps around his head.

‘Look. It’s him. Near the door.’

He jerks his head upwards and sees a flash of red, his heart sinks at the color but Lotus pulls the blindfold down over his eyes before he can make out if it is actually —

‘Fucking tease,’ he whispers.

‘Well, that guy really is in red. Just like Freud, no?’

Fuck. Not Freud.

He doesn’t want Freud to see him now, definitely not when he’s stretched out and on display like this. Suddenly he thoroughly regrets the decision to go through with Lotus’s scene. What was he thinking?

‘At least tell me if it’s him.’

Lotus pats his blindfold, grips his chin and turns his head roughly both ways to make sure he can’t see before letting go.

‘No. And it shouldn’t concern you any more.’

He isn’t expecting the harsh blow across the seat of his ass and stumbles forward with a shout, the impact making his knees buckle. He hangs by his arms, gasping roughly at the flare of pain before he struggles back to his feet.

‘Be polite, my little slut.’

Silver finds the skin of his bottom burning already, he’s breathing hard and a strand of hair has fallen back over his face. He has misjudged Lotus. His scrawny frame belittles the strength he has.

‘Gods, boy, I’m going to enjoy watching you dance for me. I’d turn you into a pain whore if I had more time, but for now I’m just going to lash you red and black and blue all over.’

Another savage smack across his ass jolts the air from his lungs. He calms his breathing with effort. The first blow caught him off guard, but now he is prepared and takes the second one better, even as Lotus keeps his hand there, tightens his grip on his cheek.

‘Turn around, boy.’

Lotus forces him to move with the vicious grip on his ass and Silver has no choice but to totter awkwardly around, unable to move his legs much thanks to the spreader bars. A thin stripe of pain laces across his thigh.

Silver recognises another bite of the crop on his calf, spurring him on. It lands again and again, up and down one thigh, the leather piece nipping at his skin, a sharp but short-lasting sting and Silver’s skin is throbbing dully by the time Lotus is done.

He digs his fingers one last time into the cheek of Silver’s ass before pulling away but before there is any respite Lotus starts landing his palm relentlessly across his rear. The blows fall indiscriminately across his cheeks, on one and then the other, the blows seemingly random until Silver realises that his entire ass is starting to burn. Lotus is covering his bottom methodically with swats, the pain stays on the surface but it smarts and draws soft hisses from him.

But Silver finds himself arching back to meet the blows. He needs this, needs the feel of Lotus groping his heated skin, needs the sharp bite of his nails. The ache in his chest that reminds him of Freud is dulled in the face of this new pain. And it is exhilarating. Every slap chips away the monster that is coiling in his chest, his breaths come short but it becomes easier to breathe.

And Lotus knows it.

‘That’s it, boy. Stick your ass out for me. I’ll give you what you need, you painslut.’

Lotus’s hands touch his shoulder and Silver tenses, thinking Lotus is going to strike him there. But the hands only caress his shoulder, palms warm from the spanking, before they trail downwards. Fingernails scour fierce lines into his back. Silver lets out a grunt through gritted teeth as the hands pull away, only to cup his cheek gently. Then they run down his neck, his chest, and settle on his nipples.

The fingers begin to pick at the nubs, running circles around them. He bites back the slight pleasure he feels from the feathery touches, but leans forward into the touch, and Lotus indulges him, thumbs the peaks, coaxes them to harden.

‘You’re such a good little slut. Gods, no wonder why everyone wants you so much.’

Lotus pulls away and Silver straightens again, keenly aware of the pleasure gathering at the pit of his loins.

‘But does Freud really want you, though?’

He can’t bite back a yelp as sharp, acute, relentless pain ravages his nipples, and he hears Lotus chuckle. He’s gasping, the two points on his chest burning, and he realises that Lotus has snapped on nipple clamps, the cool chain between them trailing across his skin.

Something hard moves down his midriff, a smooth and flat surface that shifts to rub roughly against his limp member and massage it with little poise. It feels cool to the touch, maybe leather over a strip of wood, and Silver can’t help the first bubble of arousal that forms.

It draws away, presses against his cheek. The smell of leather works its way into his mind as he turns his head to nuzzle against it, like he’s seen all of Lotus’s subs do. And the youth hums low in satisfaction.

‘Kiss it. I’m going to beat you senseless with it.’ His voice has taken on that sultry overtone and it’s almost a drunken slur.

Silver drops a gentle kiss onto its smooth, leather surface.

Lotus hums again, satisfied, and pulls it away. Then his fingers clench around his jaws and pull him forward, and he is breathing out over his cheeks, taking Silver’s lower lip between his teeth, biting down hard enough to make Silver grunt with pain.

‘What could he possibly want of you? Your dick to fuck himself on? A body to keep him warm on lonely nights?’

Lotus increases the pressure and pulls savagely, breaking the skin of Silver’s lips to draw both blood and a shout of pain. At the same time he drives the wooden implement ruthlessly against the side of Silver’s inner thigh. Silver gasps at the sudden and unexpected flare of pain, the sensitive skin there burning already, revels in it because it is his own twisted way for atoning for the sins he has committed.

‘Look at you. Your dick’s already starting to harden. You like being abused, don’t you, boy? Making all these pretty sounds just for me.’

He chuckles again and attacks Silver’s lips, lapping at the bloody tear and chewing on the wound to make him growl. Silver follows Lotus’s weapon of choice as it traces the patch of raw skin, feels its shape as it runs up his midriff and circles around to his back.

And he wonders if Freud has taken another host since Silver is occupied. Or whether Freud has stayed to watch, wonders how Freud feels about seeing him strung up and beaten. Or whether Freud has even appeared here at all after the events of the afternoon. Who is he kidding, Freud can’t be here, not after Silver stormed out on him with no explanation. But the thought wrings his gut, it’s disappointment mixed with regret, why?

Another blow lands on the back of his thigh under the curve of his ass, hitting the already heated skin from the spanking earlier and it makes him gasp and he leans thankfully into the blow so the pain can drown out the thoughts that shouldn’t be there at all.

‘Feels good? Huh? You like that?’ The paddle lands squarely across both cheeks and makes him jolt forward, breathing hard. ‘Such a slut for pain.’

The paddle claps against his sore inner thigh, gentler than before but still with enough force to pull a dull sting. It moves, tapping and testing his body, up his ass, along his waist, up to his shoulder blades. Silver tenses, dreading and yet wanting the harsh snap of its flat surface on his skin, the punishment for defiling a man he should never have touched to begin with.

‘Does Freud really pain you this badly, that you must resort to such whorish ways to get your relief? What did you think you can give him by letting him buy you for the night? The company of a slut?’

His chest constricts, crumbles in on itself. Lotus laughs.

‘Oh, I’m right? That’s cute. Thinking that you had anything to offer him at all, huh? That none of the people he’s with can offer him something better?’

Lotus brings the paddle across the top of his ass with a smack so loud that Silver can just hear it across the static, followed by a ragged yelp that falls from his lips as the force of the blow spreads like wildfire across his skin. His ass is already sore, the paddle sears a new level of pain into his flesh.

‘Marrying him? Tch, don’t kid yourself. He’s too good to marry a whore like you. He doesn’t even love you. Maybe only your dick. It’s surprising, honestly, that he’d even come this way for an already well-used dick like yours.’

Lotus doesn’t let up. He brings the paddle down repeatedly, slowly working down his ass with the same ferocity as before. The pain cuts into his thoughts and all Silver can do is grit his teeth, curl his fingers into fists so tight his nails bite into his palms, finding it harder to bite back his yelps when the paddle strikes his inner thighs.

‘God I love when you whimper.’

Every new blow feels worse than the last but somehow better too, at the same time, pain with the idea of redemption. Thoughts flicker into his mind in the darkness and static, dangerous thoughts that he has always hidden from himself, thoughts that Freud will never be his. He knows it is true but he doesn’t want to believe it, and yet he must.

A hollow throb starts to form at the base of his chest, borne out of thoughts of Freud, and Silver fears it will overflow, he’s desperate to keep it in, or to keep it at bay with pain. He cannot keep hoping for something he isn’t worthy to ever receive. ‘M-More!’

‘Oh? You surprise me, Silver.’ Lotus’s attention has turned to the sit-spots on his ass because the paddle is raining blows expertly on that single area, over and over again. He’s squirming but unable to move, Lotus has stepped in front of the spreader bar to stop him from stumbling forward.

‘Look at your ass fucking blushing for me. Already so _raw_.’

The word is punctuated by another harsh smack and Silver yelps.

‘It’s really true, then. You just keep begging for more. More cock down your throat, more up your ass. And for the first time, I see you begging for pain and enjoying the fuck out of my abuse.’

A hand snakes around and clenches hard around his shaft, stroking furiously and the gasps of pain turn to desperate keens on Silver’s lips at the sudden overstimulation. The sudden switch from intense pain to furious pleasure frays the last of his self control, his brain reeling from the shock, and he tries to pull back from of Lotus’s grip.

‘You’re really such a slut.’ Lotus’s voice is admiring, too loud in his ears. ‘On display for the entire brothel and maybe Freud is just there too, and still you’re moaning so loudly the entire room can hear you.’

The paddle rests on Silver’s behind gently. He tenses, but the paddle doesn’t move, no pain comes. Lotus is still jerking him off, coaxing his an immense orgasm down his spine. Silver finds his breathing coming harder, unable to pull away, he doesn’t know what kind of gross noises he’s making or whether he’s pleading to stop.

‘This is why you’ll never be worthy of that man. All you have is your body. Pain and pleasure — it’s all you know. You have safewords but you don’t use them. You never do. Because you want more.’ Lotus pauses in his rapid stroking to plunge his nail into the sensitive spot under Silver’s frenulum and a ragged howl tears from his lips.

‘What will they say if they know your Freud is friends with a prostitute?’

A particularly cruel blow of Lotus’s paddle on his already abused ass rocks Silver on his feet and makes him strain against his bonds, the force jolting him against Lotus’s nail. And Silver screams.

When the blinding pain fades, Silver finds himself breathing roughly, hanging from his arms, all the strength gone from his legs. Sweat has broken all over his body, there are tears in his eyes, and his member is still hard and throbbing.

The static is still playing, the scene hasn’t ended yet.

With a groan he pushes himself back onto his feet. Every movement makes pain race through him, his tortured ass already burning, and he wonders if he will need to use his safeword.

He swallows, working his dry throat and tasting blood in his mouth. For now there is only the frizzle of static and Silver takes the chance to calm his breathing. A thought springs at him out of the shadows — _How can Freud ever love me?_ — and though it’s a thought that is familiar, it doesn’t ache as badly as it used to.

He doesn’t know if he’s relieved or guilty.

Something touches his face and startles him. It traces his cheek, hard and long and cool, like plastic. Lotus rolls it over to Silver’s lips, drawing it past his mouth in one smooth stroke — it’s a long, wooden cane.

He’s seen the marks it can leave. Long stripes of mottled reds and purples. Even looking at the nasty linear welts from afar he can practically feel the burn on his own skin.

The cane stills.

‘Well?’ comes Lotus’s voice in his ear.

Silver swallows hard.

Lotus’s voice is deceptively soft. If Silver didn’t know him well enough he wouldn’t have been able to recognise the signs of impending rage and fury. ‘Do I need to remind you to kiss it? Or that I’m going to draw beautiful bloody stripes all over your bruising ass?’

Safeword. Safeword is yellow. Yellow. Yellow? Red?

‘Ignoring me, huh, you slut?’ Lotus practically roars at him, tapping the cane against his mouth so roughly against his mouth that his lips throb.

Red?

‘No sir,’ he whispers against the wooden surface.

‘Then?’ barks Lotus.

A flash of a memory, a crimson blazer, streaks across his mind —

He leans forward, kissing the cane sloppily, wrapping his lips and tongue against the wood in gross pantomime of a lover’s kiss.

Lotus backhands his cheek as he pulls the cane away. Silver blinks away stars.

‘Disgusting.’

The long strip falls across his ass. Silver cries out from the impact, whole body quivering as he arches forward. His heart is raging fiercely in his chest because he knows that there wasn’t even much force to the blow. It is Lotus’s pattern, test the tool slightly against his sub’s skin, let him feel it run all over his body, followed by a few harsh blows, rinse and repeat until Lotus is satisfied, then end with a savage lashing.

But already the mock blow hurts more than it should, the force of the lash pulsing deep into his flesh, leaving only a sting on the skin but an aching throb in his muscles.

He doesn’t think he can take much more. He realises he is mouthing the shape of his safeword, over and over, _yellow yellow yellow_. But he is waiting for this, he needs this, he wants to be broken right here.

Lotus snickers. There is unmasked glee in his voice. ‘Fuck. Does it hurt so badly?’ The cane taps again experimentally, and the fierce sear makes him gasp. Lotus lets out a shaky groan, Silver recognises the teetering voice of arousal. ‘ _Urgh_ , look at you squirm. Looks fucking painful but I want to see you _wrecked_.’

The first real lash catches his inner thigh. The fresh bite is new, sharper and seems to strike down deep into his core. Silver startles at the sheer intensity of the pain, entire body convulsing from the shock, straining at his bonds. A laugh from Lotus is punctuated by a second lash, across his shoulder blades, forcing him to arch his chest.

The previous stripe is already starting to burn, a slow heat that builds up and starts to throb as the cane draws lazy circles on the small of his back.

‘Ah, the mark is forming perfectly. I could draw an X right across your upper back. Fuck, it’d look so good.’

The cane taps impatiently at the side of his ribcage and Silver can’t help but flinch at the teasing impact.

‘You’re so hungry for pain. You’re not even begging me to stop. You have your safewords. Red and yellow. No?’

When Silver gives no reply and only pants haggardly, the cane snakes around to his chin and tilts his head upwards.

‘Are you going to use your safewords?’

He hesitates, but the thought of being left with the demons inside his head forces the words out before he can think. ‘No sir.’

Lotus snorts and the cane pulls away. ‘You look so pathetic that I almost want to take pity on you just once. Don’t expect me to ask you again.’ The wooden surface taps another diagonal on his shoulders. ‘Here, like this. One stripe like this and I’d make a nice, bright X.’

The cane disappears again. Silver stiffens, anticipating the blow, a strange mix of fear and longing overwhelming him, he needs to taste that pain —

It comes harsher than he expects, but this time Silver arches himself backwards and into the lash, crying out at the pain and yet revelling in it.

‘That’s it, you painslut.’

He hears the swish of the cane as it cuts through the air followed by a ferocious _burn_ that rips through his lower half. He staggers forward with a howl, eyes brimming with tears and trying to catch his breath, he’s breathing so quickly but none of the air is getting into his lungs.

He can’t do this for much longer, but he deserves to be treated like this —

The cane tears at his ass again before he can recollect himself, across the very same sit spots. The pain has doubled and Silver hears his scream, no, his shriek? It is cracked and high-pitched and it makes his throat hurt and the pain from his tortured ass is making his ears ring and bright spots are starting to glow in the darkness.

He hears the swish of the cane and flinches, body tensing again.

‘What’re you —’

Lotus’s voice, before it is cut off and static replaces it. Silver waits, waits, waits for the blow, but it doesn’t come, and when enough time has passed it isn’t coming any time soon, he lets himself go. He hangs limply from his hands, letting the tension leave his body, suddenly finding it too difficult to even stand, yet still dreading that another lash because something tells him it will cut into the same area of his ass yet again.

Dimly he wonders if his ass is bleeding.

Next thing he knows Lotus’s arms are around his shoulders. He flinches but the tension in his arms has gone and he lowers his hands with a soft groan, feeling the blood start to flow through them again. He is helped onto his knees and Lotus pushes him back onto his calves, making him hiss at the contact when his heels dig into the cheeks of his ass.

He’s on the floor? The scene is over?

Lotus buries his fingers in his hair, not caring that his hair was tied, and hauls him forward. His lips touch something hard, wet and hot, and he registers the bitter tang of semen. Lotus’s cock.

‘Suck, you slut. I’m sick of seeing you squirm.’

Silver parts his bleeding lips and wraps them around the hot shaft, which is already throbbing, but Lotus wrenches his head off, backhands him again.

He realises his mistake and blinks back the pain, kissing the tip of the shaft. Lotus growls low in his throat and the head throbs against his lips, and suddenly the cock is rammed into his mouth, pushing at the back of his throat and making him cough and choke.

Lotus thrusts in and out shallowly, groaning when Silver fights to swallow and tame his gag reflex. Silver knows that his throat is fluttering in the most obscenely pleasurable way right now and Lotus is enjoying it, enjoying the weak sounds of protest as he tries to get air past the  throbbing shaft and into his lungs.

Finally he swallows at just the right time, and eases into Lotus’s savage rhythm, sucking air down his nose when he can, lapping and hollowing out his cheeks in between. Lotus grabs the chain connecting the clamps on his nipples, tugging ruthlessly, the pain intensified in his tired body. He’s jolted to and fro, his ass stinging and his muscles are screaming but he ignores it.

‘Fuck, Silver. Always such a slut. That’s it.’

Another few thrusts before Lotus pulls him forward without warning, crushing him against his groin and Silver can feel the wiry hairs against his lip and nose. Lotus hardens impossibly inside his throat and he swallows for all his worth to milk that aching shaft of as much come as it can give.

Lotus pulls out, and Silver gasps for breath.

‘I’m going to remove your blindfold.’

Silver nods and gentle fingers pull away the leather piece. He blinks against the dim lighting, realising his eyes are sore and rimmed with dried tears. Lotus is in front of him, nonchalantly zipping up his leather pants. And Hilla is beside him, a scowl on her face. The two of them are bickering even as they help him out of his restraints.

Thank god.

Lotus coaxes him to lean on his shoulder and he does. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Hilla addressing the crowd.

Thank god it’s over. Everything hurts and everything could’ve gone horribly wrong, but it’s over.

There is no sign of any man in any red blazer.

Darkness takes him.

 

* * *

 

 

Silver comes to in a world of pain.

He’s in bed, on his chest. He tries to move but immediately falls still, every muscle screaming and taut and worn and he’d rather just not move. His nipples are sore too, if he moves the sheets rub against them, two sore points on his chest.

‘You’re awake.’

Lotus is sitting on the chair beside him.

He remembers the darkness, the blinding pain, the shackles, and his ass seems to flare slightly at the memory. Then he realises that hands are working gently at his back and ass, and that he’s still stark naked.

With a groan he tilts his head, sees Hilla carefully applying a salve over his skin. It’s all numbed now, just a low drone of slight pain in the background, probably because of the ointment on his behind.

‘Wha… What happened?’ he croaks, his voice is slurred and dry.

‘You sound like shit,’ notes Lotus.

Hila cuffs him upside the head with her salve-covered hand, sending greenish splatters flying. ‘No thanks to you fuckhead. God it’s like you’re empty in the head.’

‘Sorry I’m not fucking sorry.’

‘Jeez, you were ruthless.’ Hilla scowls at Lotus, who couldn’t look more bored even if he tried. ‘Caning him so hard until he passed out.’

‘Well he didn’t use his fucking safeword even though I asked him to. And mind you he fainted _after_ I was done fucking his face. He’s to blame, not me —’

‘He was out of it! Anyone could see!’ Hilla snorts. ‘You’re mad! Fucking mad! I should tie you up and ship you over to a mad scientist to see what makes you so crazy.’

Lotus only growls in reply before he gets up and storms out of the room, slamming the door shut so hard that the room shakes.

Hilla lets out a groan of exasperation and rolls her eyes.

‘So,’ prompts Silver.

Hilla sighs and closes the cap of the jar of salve. It looks brand new, untouched until now. ‘He’s a dick, but I’m sure he doesn’t mean to. Being handsome doesn’t guarantee one brains, apparently. Fuckhead.’

‘It’s alright.’

Hilla wipes her hand on a towel nearby. Silver notices it’s stained with blood. ‘Oh, this?’ Hilla notices his gaze. ‘Don’t worry. It was for your lip. The skin of your ass isn’t bleeding, don’t worry. Soon you’ll be back to normal, give or take a few tiny bruises.’ She groans loudly and fits a cup to Silver’s lips, letting him take a few small sips of water. ‘Your previously porcelain skin, marred! I can’t take this!’

Her dramatic comment curls his lips into a smirk. ‘Hey, thanks.’ Silver lets his eyes flutter half closed, enjoying the cooling sensation that spreads across his skin.

Suddenly he remembers.

‘Hilla,’ he says, just before she leaves the room. ‘Did you see anyone in a red blazer?’

Recognition dawns on Hilla’s golden eyes before she walks back in, tucking her fiery hair behind her ear. To Silver’s surprise, she takes his hand.

‘Listen, Silver.’ Her voice is strangely gentle. ‘Lotus didn’t tell me what exactly you said to him, but he did tell me what he told you.’

She squeezes his hand.

‘You should take his advice.’

‘He didn’t give me advice,’ Silver murmurs, his heart is twisting in his ribcage but he’s too numb to feel anything, now. ‘He made a mockery out of Freud —’

‘I know, Silver. But he did say that you were out of his league, no?’

Words fail him, because he knows it’s true.

‘I know how difficult it is, Silver. Believe me. It’s difficult but sometimes you have to let a lover go because they’re too good for you.’

He glances up at her, studies the sorrow behind her golden irises, her fierce grip on her hand, and wonders what lover she has lay with and had to give up to make her speak with such conviction.

‘Love hurts,’ he concedes.

Hilla’s face softens, and behind the thick layer of makeup, the eyeliner and the eyeshadow, and the haughty smirk of a confident woman, he sees a heartbroken lover.

She pulls her hands away and cups his cheek gently, as if to soothe him. Maybe she touched her lover just like that, a long time ago.

‘At least take some time to say goodbye.’

Hilla stands in the doorway, and she has never looked so alone.

Silver smiles at her, genuinely, thankfully, and is strangely glad to see her grin jauntily back.

She turns off the lights and shuts the door. In the darkness, living by the faint heartbeat of lounge music echoes through the thin walls and listening to the whisper of the cars as they ooze along the highway a few blocks down the road, Silver decides that some things, like declarations of love and requests for a hand in marriage, are better left unsaid.

But there are some things that need to be heard —

_I have never loved you._

— even if they are lies.


	8. Chapter 8

A door slams open and Silver jerks upright before letting out a groan when his muscles erupt in a frenzy of angry throbbing. The sudden light gnaws at his eyes and he can only just make out Lotus coming in with a deep scowl on his face.

“Food,” he drawls, dropping a bag unceremoniously on the chair beside him. “Hilla made me bring it. You owe me five coppers.”

“Ugh… thanks.” Silver rubs the sleep from his eyes.

“It’s already evening, you lazy piece of shit. For fuck’s sake get up and go talk to Hilla. Overbearing bitch been on my case all day.”

Silver props himself down on his elbows, reaching over to grab the takeout box. “I will.”

He tears open the lid of the box, finding himself hungry though he knows the noodles are greasy and aren’t cooked all the way through. Lotus watches with a frown as he breaks the chopsticks and tucks in.

“Never doing another scene with you ever again,” Lotus mutters offhandedly. “Fucking pansy.”

“Suit yourself.”

“Though your back looks good with those lashes burned into your skin.”

Silver glances up, catching Lotus’s gaze roving down his exposed back and ass. “If only I had a copper for every time I heard that.”

Lotus leans on the chair with a slouch. Silver realises for the first time that despite his inhuman strength, he’s twig thin and hasn’t grown into the body of a man.

“Fucking slut. No way in hell that’s happening. Mind you I should take a gold mark because I played host for you yesterday.”

Silver scrapes the last bits of noodles into his mouth. “You should be paying for my ointment.”

The blonde’s lips twist into a contemptuous sneer, deep purple eye narrowing. Silver busies himself in the silence, folding the box back into its original shape, noting that sharp-tongued Lotus has decided to stay silent.

He sets the empty carton back on the chair. “You can start by throwing this in the trash.”

Lotus’s sneer grows. “Well it’s not my fucking fault you decided not to use the safewords. And for the record I don’t owe you a fucking thing. If there was a debt at all, I already cleared it by giving you a free flogging, you lovesick cunt.”

“I’ll pay you the gold piece when I can get out of bed,” says Silver curtly, just to insist that the conversation is at its end, before lowering himself to the bed and closing his eyes.

He stays with his eyes shut until he hears Lotus scoff. “Tonight, then.” The short statement is followed by the loud crash of the door against its frame. The only thing on his mind is how gleeful the blond looks to see him in this predicament. As if Silver is nothing but a huge joke.

Not that it isn’t true. Even the idea is absurd to him — an impossible, unrequited love between the lowest rung of the lowest city and the pinnacle of prestige in the glamorous district just across the canal. Just like the bad soap operas that air at four in the afternoons, with every character a mess of tears and exaggerated heartbreak.

Silver lets out a soft breath of air and pushes himself up gingerly, sliding off the bed. His ass and torso smart as he makes his way over to the bathroom to piss. It’s only when he’s halfway through that he realises that the bruising from a severe lashing like that should last a lot longer. They feel almost healed, as if they’ve been there for half a week by now.

The cross printed onto his upper back is still visible, but it doesn’t look as inflamed as it felt yesterday. Neither does the sloppy fishnet of red lines running across the cheeks of his ass. There is only the occasional bruise, tiny blemishes of faint purple smaller than his thumbnail.

And when he runs the shower, there isn’t the fiery sting of broken skin anywhere. He stands under the water, perplexed. He’s been in his fair share of fights. A good punch can split the skin on his knuckles, and if he hits buttons or zippers the skin on his fingers will tear. Add a weapon and the extent of damage should be far, far more severe. Especially when the soft skin of his ass was laid bare to the cruel lashes of Lotus’s cane.

It has to be the salve. Silver steps out of the shower and picks up the unassuming little jar off the dresser, studying its green, transparent contents carefully. No label around the jar or on the cap. Glass, thick and heavy, sealed with a sturdy, metal cap. Smells pleasant too, like green apples. Definitely expensive.

The Oasis doesn’t splurge on its staff. They’ve run out of condoms so many times that Hilla started telling the regulars to bring their own and started selling overpriced rubbers for the greenhorns. But who knows — maybe Hilla managed to find it within her penny-pinching, flea-bitten, stingy self, and docked it from Lotus’ pay. Silver lets himself smile.

Now that he’s showered, sitting on the bed doesn’t hurt as much as before. Another night of rest and the pain should be a dull throb in the morning.

He reapplies the salve, making sure not to use excess so he can keep the rest, , and then slides into bed. The warm shower proves too soothing for him and the next time he awakens, he is greeted by the sun’s soft, golden rays.

Silver spends the next minute wondering why he is in bed instead of at the table, watching headlights crawl by on the interstate few blocks over as the first streaks of color stain the sky to the sound of gentle inhalations and the rustle of skin on thin sheets. Then, he remembers. No, Freud isn’t here. Freud can’t ever come back again. Not here, where the city defiles everything that dares to cross it.

And most of all, Freud cannot return to Silver lest he loses his way just the same.

Silver curls on his side, listening to pipes rattle under the weight of water, as the darkness retreats for dawn.

 

* * *

  

Nobody is awake except Alpha, who is sprawled out on a chair watching old reruns on the Oasis’ crappy TV. The blonde is pulling on a cigarette, twisting around when Silver treads on the squeaky step on his way down the stairs.

“Hey,” Alpha says. Silver notices the flicker of his gaze, the glance across his frame to check for scars and welts.

“Hey.”

There’s too much to be said. There always is. The awkward tension between colleagues in a place like this, where they whore themselves out openly in front of the rest of the employees — the closest thing Silver has to family, right now — and they want to check up without prodding on any old bruises. Silver shows care with little offerings of sweets and chocolate, though Hwang still charges a few coppers too much for them. Though Silver doesn’t quite care for them himself, he knows most of the rest take comfort in the candy.

The longer Silver knows Alpha, the more apparent it becomes that Alpha shows care with the clearing of his throat and uncomfortable bouts of tactlessness. Like the once when Belle had a rather… persistent client… _uh, so how’s your ass? I mean, not trying to remind you of the rape or anything but— Oh, just fuck me up— Fu— Shit, not that way—_

“I’m better,” Silver volunteers.

Alpha deflates visibly. “Good,” he says, as much a statement of his own relief as anything. They both turn to the TV, some pretty newscaster in a bright dress, one of her eyes blotched out by a stain on the screen. “I never liked Lotus. Or Orchid, for that matter. Creepy little bastards, like they’re right out of _The Shining_ or some shit.”

“Good thing Lotus cut his hair, then.”

“It made the bastard look dead. So hell yes to his short hair.”

Silver has a hand on the doorknob when he realises that Alpha’s standing, cigarette forgotten. The newscaster’s drone about some mafia and burned-down houses is just background noise as Alpha sighs and scratches his neck. He suddenly looks too old, young body worn by acts he shouldn’t ever have been forced to commit, packed with muscle not out of his own volition.

“You…” Alpha looks away. “Where are you going?” he asks instead.

The moment is broken. Silver twists the knob and pushes. “Downtown.”

“Hey.” Alpha takes a step forward and Silver hesitates on the landing, the sharp spring air slicing through him like a knife. “Stay safe, alright?”

_Don’t go looking for Freud._

Silver meets Alpha’s eyes, just long enough for Alpha to know he’s heard, before walking out the door.

He stops by the park to steel his nerves. Away from the constricting silence of the Oasis, and in the fresh air when he can think straight. The pigeons flock as usual and Silver tears apart a loaf of bread. He tosses the pieces absentmindedly, the words choking in his throat. How on earth is he going to say what he needs to? He is many things, like the muted hiss of a blade through the air, or the twist of a body held by another — eloquence and clarity, he is not.

He could end up with far more than his own hurt, but he cannot take a painless day as a satisfactory result.

There’s a crow perched on a low hanging branch, its beady eyes fixed on the remaining bread in his hands. Silver sighs, shreds half for the pigeons, and leaves the last hunk on the bench for the crow. As soon as he’s a few steps away, there’s a rush of feathers and the crow whips past him, so close he sees the bread clutched in its beak and hears the wind rushing past.

It makes a wide loop over the canal, a tiny speck against the noontime sun, before looping back to Kerning City.

Silver walks on. He keeps his gaze resolute, breath drawing curls around him. He receives stares for his vest, his cream scarf, and his long hair, though everyone who looks averts their gaze when he meets theirs. The Lumiere seems to hush when he pushes the door open. That waiter is there once again, brow furrowing over a plastic smile.

Silver drops sixteen gold pieces on the counter, watching his precious time creep past breakfast and into lunch. Three customers behind him receive their food before his arrives. Two sandwiches, thankfully still warm. He leaves a piece of silver as a tip anyway, and is glad to finally leave.

Freud has talked so often about his office that he recognises it on first sight. A tall, gleaming behemoth of a building, all polished glass and intimidating angles in the sun. He waits for the doors to open for him and strides in. The receptionist doesn’t so much as bat an eye at his attire. Freud has hired the right people, Silver muses.

“I’m looking for Freud.”

The receptionist opens a little logbook and runs her finger through the day’s schedule. “Do you have an appointment, sir?”

“No. I was in the area, thought to buy him lunch.”

“Mr Freud already has an appointment for lunch, sir.” The receptionist is genuinely apologetic. Silver idly wonders if Freud hired actors.

“What about his next slot?”

Another glance through the book. “Give me a moment, sir. I’ll check.”

Silver studies the lobby as the receptionist murmurs her request into a phone, to Freud’s secretary no doubt. Furniture is as polished as in Freud’s house, lit by warm amber lamps and stacks of magazines within easy reach of every chair. Expensive, yet welcoming to new clients. There’s a lounge with a coffee machine in the corner and there, one of Freud’s employees are pouring over a manuscript with a woman who gives him the evil eye — the client. Silver doesn’t maintain eye contact, he doesn’t want trouble, not here.

“Sir?” The receptionist is handing the book and a pen over the counter. “He’s free from one to two, perhaps you’d like to come back later?”

The pen in Silver’s grip hesitates when he makes out the flourish of a signature on the slot before his.

“Sir?”

“It’s alright, I’ll wait.” Silver forces a smile and signs his name in before sliding the book back.

The receptionist stands. “Would you prefer waiting in Mr Freud’s waiting room instead, sir?”

Silver nods, feeling the glare of the client on his back. “Please.”

Freud’s secretary is a quiet young man with a shock of blue hair and piercing blue eyes. The nametag on the desk reads _Kyle Kaiser_. “Mr Freud’s office is arranged differently, as you can see,” laughs Kyle. “One of his clients mentioned briefly that it was uncomfortable having a secretary hovering at your shoulder all the time. So we shifted things around a bit.”

Kyle holds open the door to the inner waiting room and Silver nods in thanks.

“He’ll call you in at his own time.” Kyle leans against the doorframe, easy, relaxed confidence. “Coffee? Tea?”

Silver declines politely and Kyle leaves after checking on him once more. The waiting room is dimmer, overlooking the city. It faces the other side of the city, framing the sprawling buildings with a polished windowsill. Silver sets the bag of sandwiches on the table and sits carefully on the couch. It’s all very clean, the smell of rubbing alcohol still faintly drifting up from the leather.

He still has no idea what to say. Everything sounds clumsy, and inappropriate, and blunt. He resists the urge to tighten his hands around the sandwiches in his lap. It suddenly occurs to him his fingers are trembling.

_I don’t love you._

No. That is too blatant a lie.

_Don’t come back._

_Don’t come back. I can’t earn enough if you take my entire night for free._

_If you come back, don’t look for me. You’re the most boring client I’ve served. Alpha’s the one who prefers vanilla. Buy him instead._

Silver belatedly realises lunch might be wrongly seen as a peace offering.

He gets up and walks over to the trash bin. He’s about to drop the sandwiches when something stops him. A whiff of alcohol, light and sweet. Drifting past the door to Freud’s office through a tiny gap where it was left ajar.

Alcohol?

Silver straightens, takes several deeper breaths. Undoubtedly alcohol. He recognises the flowery overtones of wine, barely distinguishable from the freshener in the air by the way it curls in his throat.

That fateful evening Freud appeared in the Oasis was the only time Silver has ever seen the man with alcohol. All other times they had tea. Coffee. Juice, once. Freud’s refrigerator had a rack for wine, but it was stocked instead with milk for Evan and sparkling juice. No bottle opener, no cork-puller. Freud owns two wine glasses, but they were at the back of the cupboard and covered in dust.

Silver turns to go back to his seat. What Freud does is not his business. He doesn’t have intention to snoop, much less to intrude on Freud’s privacy.

There’s a rattle, a clatter, followed by a muffled exclamation that fades quickly back into silence.

A voice that is definitely not Freud’s.

Silver forces his hand to stop trembling and pushes the door open a little more, peering through the crack. The fruity scent of liquor grows stronger. It’s lunchtime; the scent is out of place in the sunlight. A little further in, there’s a coil of blue tossed on the carpet, draped carelessly over an overturned black oxford.

Not the bright blue tie, but the muted one. The one that brings out Freud’s eyes instead of overshadows it.

A glance over his shoulder confirms that Kyle is still at his table, frowning at his computer. The clock reads 12:09. Silver slips in past the door, gently eases it shut behind him.

A bottle lies shattered beside the desk, dark reds eating at the carpet in a growing circle, past glinting shards of glass. Another bottle sits empty on Freud’s printer, a white jacket with golden buttons caught by a sleeve from an out-jutting book. The larger-than-life painting of the seaside behind Freud’s desk is crooked, paper and stationery strewn across the glass surface and onto the carpet. A fountain pen is leaking into the second black oxford.

Silver carefully removes the pen and sets it back on the desk.

There’s a single photoframe on the desk, of a chocolate-haired man and a smaller version, both with the same smiles that could set fire to the sun.

The place is too big for a single man. Lavished, but not over-the-top. It’s more glass than walls, and Silver can see for miles. There’s a flattened spot where a lamp should’ve gone, and where the lampshade once was, Silver can see the head of a rusty crane peeking into the otherwise magnificent view.

It’s open, but still enclosed, and sound travels further in enclosed spaces.

Silver calms his aching heart and carefully threads towards the sounds. Sounds that he thought he would only hear back in Kerning City, with darkness outside and garish party lights inside… not emanating from the broom closet of Freud’s office.

Light is spilling past the crack in the door. Silver’s hand is outstretched, shaking this time, about to wrench the door open, when there’s a groan and a protestation.

“F-Freud… shit… stop, you really shouldn’t—”

His blood turns to ice.

“Just once,” slurs Freud, his voice an undignified mess of words smudged over by alcohol. “Just this once.”

“Fuck— Freud, just fucking stop—”

Another rattle.

Freud begs. “Please, Phantom.”

He doesn’t even need to strain to make out the reflection in the metal bookends. A man in red dress pants on his knees, in front of another dressed in white.

Silver leans heavily against Freud’s desk.

“Freud, don’t make this worse—”

“I still love you, you know?” Freud’s voice is now muffled in the way syllables sound when they’re forced past something weighing on the tongue. “I always did…”

“Shit, shit— I shouldn’t have brought the alcohol—”

“I’m not drunk!” Anger, hot and searing but blunted by the haze of heavy drink. “For all the years after Rhinne died… All the stupid smiles, all these expectations… I’m not invincible, I can’t do it alone—”

“Freud. Please. You know I don’t want to hurt you.”

“She was my spirit partner, Phantom.”

“I’m getting married—”

“I _know!”_ Freud roars.

Silver feels a wave of goosebumps traverse his skin in the silence.

“I don’t want to be alone again,” Tears mar Freud’s voice. “Just… please. I can’t love anyone or they leave me. It’s never fair.”

When Silver’s heart gives a noteworthy throb, he realises he has long outstayed his welcome. He turns to go.

“But… Freud, come on, fingering yourself—”

“Why won’t you believe me? I would rent a whore’s cock to put up my hole. I’m just a lonely bastard who needs too much, too often, alright? Just this once, before I lose you forever. Can’t you let me have that? Can’t you just let me pretend?”

In the silence, tears prick at Silver’s eyes.

“I’m sorry I didn’t know,” he hears Phantom say, just as he slips back out the door.

He is smiling again as he knocks on Kyle’s desk to get his attention. _It’s alright, I just remembered I have somewhere else to be. But don’t let anyone else book the next hour, alright? You know Mr Freud, he works himself to the bone, he’d appreciate the rest, actually… No, nothing much— it’s alright, really, yes. He’ll understand when he sees my name in the logbook. Actually, is it possible to remove my name? No, it’s alright, I’ll do it. Thanks._

The receptionist doesn’t ask questions, just carefully erases his name with correction fluid and writes Redacted there instead.

For a publishing company, Freud’s staff isn’t the kind to ask questions.

Silver supposes he’s thankful.

The sun has vanished in the short span of time it’s taken to leave the building. The logo of Leafre, the stylised, pixel blue egg no longer glints cheerfully against the sky. It looks almost washed out, now that he’s staring at it against overcast clouds. Businessmen have made themselves scarce, not wanting to get their suits drenched or ruined in the storm.

Silver waits for the rain, but it never comes.

 

* * *

 

The light is almost gone when he makes it back to the Oasis. Hilla rounds on him, opening her mouth to tell him off when something stops her.

Silver cracks her as best a smile he can before heading across the dance floor to Lotus, who is draped over his favorite chair.

“Your golden coin,” Silver says, dropping the mark into Lotus’ lap. “You were right. Freud was just lonely.”

Lotus picks up the coin, but doesn’t reply.

“Lotus, what the fuck,” Hilla begins to say, but Silver turns to her resolutely.

“First client is mine,” he says flatly. “I don’t need free time tonight.”

“Silver, are you even healed yet—”

“And if you want another scene, I’ll be here,” Silver says over his shoulder to Lotus, who blinks lazily in pleasant surprise.

There is no protest from any of the other staff as he heads upstairs to shower and prepare himself.

Over the sound of running water he hears the bass of senseless music, and faintly catches the creak of the door opening as he towels dry. Just as he reaches the bottom of the landing, Hilla shows in a balding, middle-aged businessman.

Silver ignores her pleading stare, and puts on his trademark smile.

“This way, sir. I’ll be your host tonight.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this when I have two 2.5k word essays due in 2 days, go me
> 
> Thanks Tab for helping to proof read :d
> 
>  
> 
> **tw: painplay, slight noncon**
> 
>  
> 
> (Don't these trigger warnings spoil the fun of the chapter.)

Silver makes more money in this one night than he can ever remember making at one go. That suits him fine, though he won't have anything to spend it on any time soon. The only thing bothering him is the glances the rest of his colleagues give him, the kind that speaks of pity but embarrassment at the same time, as though they are all on their first day at work again and they’re too afraid to ask after him. These are the stares that he hates the most, he can always feel someone’s gaze, heavy with guilt _on his behalf,_ and it irks him to his core.

He knows they’re all just concerned, but still. Hilla takes every chance to try and badger the truth out of him, Alpha and Beta try making a joke out of it (and that, as expected, goes seven ways to hell very fast), and even Lotus takes some time to express his worry. It makes this run-down, wretched brothel feel a little homelier than out on the streets, but Silver doesn’t dare let himself get comfortable with his place among these people.

Silver knows he’ll make it through — he’s made it through much more with much less.

Now, he is trying to make it through with _nothing_. He wants his head empty, thoughts blank, a comfortable static that lets him settle on the task at hand: he is kneeling between the legs of someone familiar, tongue outstretched and dragging a wet, hot stripe across a throbbing shaft.

It’s L’s. The man’s arms are bound behind him by Silver's own shirt, and he lets out a garbled moan. "F-Fuck you, Starfire..."

Silver smirks up at him and shifts to kiss the tip of his cock, taking several long moments to savour the blood rushing under the skin pressed to his lips. L hisses in frustration and when Silver sees the twitch of his hips he has been waiting for, he pulls his lips back and rakes his teeth across the head.

A colourful string of curses accompanies the trickle of precome that greets him.

"Not yet," he whispers and pulls away, making a show of wrapping his fingers around the shaft, but not stroking just yet. The length is pretty and slender, and throbs even more sweetly in the slimy light after Silver spreads the slick all over. L's face is twisted up and tense in the way one tends to after being led to the brink and tugged back, over and over, while being forced to watch as the drop is snatched away every time. Yet his eyes are wide, sapphire and ruby rings around a blown-out onyx core, blurred by arousal and the thin sheen of tears that can't be blinked away. L finally gets the hint and forces his hips back down on the chair, and Silver leans close to inhale the scent of the man's sex.

His eyes never leave L's, and he catches the bob in the man's throat.

"Good."

Returning his attention to the angry red shaft, he turns his next move over in his mind. Silver is known for controlling a man's cock with nothing but his lips and hands, without the use of any ungainly squeezing that shocks pleasure into disappearing. The Oasis' specialty, after all, is the Silver Moon's service: his pliant mouth, his clever, seeking tongue, his almost curious playfulness as he leads his clients by the nose, his practiced grip and slender fingers — and most of all, his eyes. Times like this, his gaze is lust personified, pure violet marred by a thick shroud of hazy arousal. His normally calm expression is now unseated, upset and all that's left in its place is unfettered hunger, a new moon aching to catch the light of the sun.

A hitched breath falls from L's lips. In Silver’s grip, the cock twitches, begging for attention where its owner is speechless. Silver lets out a pleased hum and extends his tongue to lick. L's face slackens in relief. And Silver pauses in mid-pull of his tongue. It is his favorite trick. He always loves watching his clients like this. The abrupt turn of pleasure ground to dust forces a quiver across the man's skinny midriff, and Silver lets a tiny smile pull at the edges of his lips, just enough to be seen and not too much to be smug, and L actually whimpers at the sight.

"You're so fucking good like this," he grits out, and Silver blinks, as if he hasn't the slightest clue, but as he does he wraps his lips around the shaft and drops down to the base, expertly sheathing L's entire length in velvet heat.

L, helpless and suddenly enveloped in tightness he has not felt for the entire night, swears and bucks into his mouth. Silver's firm grip on L's thighs force him back down, and then he pulls away as quickly as he had slid down. He keeps his mouth open, teeth hidden behind puffy lips, threads of saliva glisten obscenely in the yellowed light before breaking as he rests on his haunches. His client is wrecked, panting, perspiration matting his snowy fringe and trickling down his neck, his expression almost pained from being so overstimulated, and Silver nearly decides to let him off.

Ah, but if he were in L's position, he would hate for his fun to end so soon.

The next trick up his sleeve. Silver reaches out with both hands and cups L's sac gently. The man's eyes widen at the new routine. Silver leans in to nuzzle at the skin, breaking eye contact and shifting his interest wholly to the organ in front of him. He mewls, pressing his cheek against the shaft, it is the only thing in his world right now and he makes it known with lazy blinks and blearily lidded eyes. He knows what L's seeing —

A pretty young man, cheeks and chin wet with all manner of bodily fluids, quickly falling into a trance where nothing else matters but the cock in front of him. This man's breathing harder now, lips opening to receive the shaft but hesitating, as if he's afraid to touch something he isn't worthy of. Through strands of raven hair, his adam's apple strains and then bobs in arousal, and he makes a timid advance. L's cock misses his lips, accidental or not, it is unclear — but Silver is suddenly consumed by mindless desire. If his gaze was unfocused before, it is drunken now. His cock is resting delicately across the man's face, smearing pre against the side of his nose, against his smooth porcelain cheek, against those soft lips between which heavy breaths of arousal slip through and caress the skin of his cock. The forbidden heat is so close and yet so far, almost a different kind of heat all on its own, as the Silver Moon finally shifts just enough to offer a single, reverent kiss across his flushed skin. 

Silver feels L's entire frame tense and elegantly snaps from his act, pulling away as the orgasm runs unaided through L's body. He knows how tight L's throat must feel, as the buildup of orgasm shatters through him, and yet the lack of stimulation will have his mind wanting and dissatisfied even after his body is spent.

It is all leading to probably the most brutal part of his service.

L’s features are brushed by helpless frustration as his orgasm is ripped from him without any of the euphoria. His come dribbles pathetically down his shaft and Silver doesn't do anything but watch. With another curse, the man slumps back in the chair but is given no respite, for Silver quickly moves to engulf the oversensitive head, assaulting it with quick laps and rakes of his teeth, messy slurps that carry even over the bass thumping in the background.

Incapable of speech, L merely grunts and whines his limit, but Silver catches him by the cock and wrenches him towards another sheer orgasm. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of L's waist, wrestling him into his seat. He works, silent save the sound of wet lips smacking against foreskin, the teeth of his lower jaw nudging against all the nerves just below the bulbous head, taking L deeper and deeper inside him each time, forcing the man to respond. And L does, slowly but surely, with a stilling of his hips as he accepts the pleasure-pain, and then with thrusts that match his pace.

L manages an elegant "Fu— S-Shit!" at last, throwing his head back, mouth open to suck in all the air he can manage.

Silver feels more than sees the man's climax, the cock in his mouth hardening and pressing against the roof of his mouth before the man even registers the next wave of pleasure. He snatches one last breath before sliding down to the base, swallowing desperately around L's cock as it throbs and warmth spills down his throat.

Gently, careful not to touch the shaft any more than he needs to, he pulls up and reaches around to undo free the man from the tangle of his shirt.

L falls back against his chair, boneless. From somewhere behind him, there's applause. Not many can hold out that long to Silver's blowjobs, and he's sure there were bets being taken.

"Let me enjoy my fucking afterglow," mutters L, a fourth to himself, a fourth to Silver, and half to the other two voices in his head, and Silver chuckles. He stands and kisses L chastely, and L lets him, their lips meeting just briefly in thanks and in admiration. Silver pulls away first, and gently brushes the sweaty white hair out of the man's eyes in a final goodbye before heading upstairs.

Hilla intercepts him, a frown weighing on her features, so many unspoken questions laid bare by her expression alone.

He doesn’t want to confront her right now. Silver drops his eyes, not letting the pang in his chest get to him, turning and retreating to his quiet spot by the jukebox once again.

He washes the taste of come down with beer, fixes his eyes on the washed out stain on the table, and waits for the sound of his name being called over harsh notes and bass.

 

* * *

 

It is the dead of night, when the darkness is absolute and even the streets seem a little too threatening to walk along, when a new guest walks in.

Usually Silver doesn’t take notice of the visitors unless they wander into his field of vision, and even then he sees so many come and go that most become faceless before the hour has even passed. But once in a while, the Oasis is graced by individuals with a presence so overwhelming that even the heady atmosphere of alcohol fumes and lube and hazy sex is dispelled in an instant.

Individuals like Freud, and like this man walking in with a smile across his face.

 At first, Silver thinks it’s L once more. His gaze is drawn to the man’s snowy hair, the one crimson eye of the mismatched gaze he is expecting. The man is standing to face Hilla, speaking to her with an air of easy confidence that makes heads turn. Silver can’t make out the other eye, so he can’t say for sure.

Yet even L’s strange personalities put together do not come close. Silver ducks his head to steal glances through the gaps in his fringe without being noticed, because something is telling him that he would not want to be caught. Hilla looks small and petite and so fragile beside the man, even though he is only half a head taller than her. It is the way he tilts his head back, the brimming self-assurance that puts even Hilla’s arrogant demeanour to shame. Silver thinks about a gang leader, a renowned assassin, a brilliant businessman — but none of them seem capable of filling the man’s shoes.

He is _more_. So much more. 

The grip on his glass tightens when Hilla glances his way, unease written all over her face. And when the man’s gaze slowly follows, Silver finally makes out the color of his other eye.

Where he is expecting blue, ice cold and refreshing like water running across snow, there is only deep, bloody red.

“Silver,” Hilla gestures. There is apology in her eyes, and that unsettles something inside him. Hilla is not nervous. She never is. She is strong for herself and strong for her employees, and even though she can be a shitty, lazy boss, her heart is where it counts. Hilla does not get intimidated, but Silver can see that she is now. 

Silver takes a second more to pack away the alarm inside him before he stands and makes his way over. The man is dressed like any other from New Leaf, finely woven fabric with crisp edges and shiny buttons, all the right iron creases and perfect angles that make his frame alone intensely attractive. He is fighting fit underneath a shirt so pristinely white it puts the whitewashed floor of this place to shame. He stands relaxed with his weight on one foot, a cocky tilt of his hips that’s still visible despite the heavy black trench coat which does nothing to hide the leanness of his frame. His formal decorum is brought home by a stark black tie, yet perfectly softened by the white silk scarf hanging loosely across his neck and shoulders.

Silver takes it all in with a single glance, and doesn’t miss the bulge in the man’s trench coat in the shape of a handle and barrel.

“I’ve heard about you,” says the man without preamble, eyes not roaming across Silver’s body like greedy clients usually do, but locking gazes. It only takes a single second before Silver is forced to look away, not because he wants to be subservient, but because those eyes bore into him and will surely make him sick if he stares too long, like watching maggots squirming in moldy flesh.

“Sir,” Silver replies.

“If you want to be serviced, you can,” Hilla says, voice tightly strung, threatening to be snapped any moment by sheer frustration, “You can even ask for safe words if you wish; no need for your lackeys outside to bail you out if things get uncomfortable.”

The man glances at Hilla, and whatever else Hilla wants to say dries up in a breathy huff.

“I just wanted to find out some things for myself,” he turns and snakes a hand under Silver’s chin. The touch is gentle, deliberate, but Silver doesn’t doubt that a single misstep is all it takes for that hesitance to disappear. This close, the man’s cologne is sweet, light, and reminds Silver of flowers on rich grass on a summer’s day. It fills Silver’s head and the shock of this new scent makes him reel. “I heard about you, Silver. All good things, I assure you — one of my friends comes here exclusively for your service, and curiosity got the better of me. I hear he has quite an affection for you, too.”

Hilla nods curtly, humouring the man’s long story even though it wasn’t asked for. But Silver’s blood runs cold. _Friends?_ And it’d been someone he’d serviced before? Had he done anything to anger them?

“I suppose, for such a shitty district, it’s not such a bad place to be.”

Abruptly, the man lets go. Silver’s hand goes straight to touch his chin where the man’s had been moments ago, somehow expecting to find some oil or slick clinging there when there would clearly be none. Silver breathes a little easier as the man heads for the only empty table — the one just next to the jukebox. Silver bites back a sudden jolt of protectiveness. _It’s just a table._

Silver realizes that this paradox of a man reeks of New Leaf dignity — of being far better than this place deserves — and yet he can also look perfectly at home at the table stained with come, in places where only scum reside.

“Do you want to be serviced or not,” snaps Hilla, and Silver is startled by the tension in her voice. Whatever the man had said to her earlier had definitely taken its toll. 

“Of course,” the man shifts his chair and spreads his legs so there would be space for someone to kneel comfortably there without bumping their heads. “Help me understand why the Oasis is so revered when it’s even more of a disgrace than I’d imagined.”

Hilla opens her mouth to snarl something, but Silver hurriedly turns to her and holds her elbow gently. He pleads with his eyes. _This man is dangerous. If it takes me to get him out, let me do it as quickly as possible._

He knows Hilla sees, because she lets the fight drain out of her, and nods for him to begin. Silver gives her a small smile, just to tell her he’ll be alright.

“Will you have me strip, sir?” he asks, with the all-time favorite head tilt and the childish, naive slant to his voice.

“Anyone can striptease,” replies the man, red eyes lidded. “I hear otherwise about your blowjobs.”

“It’s part of the show,” Silver murmurs in response, dropping gracefully to his knees. 

The man chuckles and contemplates, and for a moment Silver expects to have to get up and do a proper dance. Then the man tuts and pulls back the sleeve of his coat, revealing a shiny chrome watch. 

“I’m in a hurry.”

Silver realizes, belatedly, that people who wear coat indoors don’t expect to stay for long.

“Just get to it, darling.”

The term of endearment sends a gross shiver across his skin, goosebumps prickling from the neck down. The man hurries it up by undoing the button and zipper of his silk pants, tugging down fine white briefs.

Silver reaches out and traces his fingers across with pretend reverence, trying to separate the man’s natural scent from the thick of his cologne. “May I have your name, sir? To moan it as I suck you?”

In his grip, the flaccid length tightens and fills out a little, and Silver knows he won’t last long.

“You may,” the man’s grin grows, but only from one corner, so it is more a sneer than anything else. He continues in a stage whisper, “But only if you don’t tell a soul.” 

Silver nods, turning wide eyes up to meet the man’s. The shaft swells slightly more. 

“It’s Nox,” he breathes, savoring the lone syllable as much as Silver savors the growing hardness between his fingers.

Behind him, Silver hears Hilla gasp, and there is a flare of worry that he should know this name but doesn’t.

Pushing unhelpful thoughts away, he leans forward and begins. It isn’t often that he gets hired for his technique, not when there are cheaper alternatives like asses and tight throats at the back of mouths forced open by ring gags. Silver has come to think of it as easy money, especially when the length in his mouth always hardens as quickly as it does now.

He does the same to the man called Nox as he did to the man called L. It doesn’t take long for him to lose himself in the movement. Silver licks with the tip of his tongue at first, carefully drawing hesitant lines across to tease with the very promise of more. Soon he adds more licks that slowly advance to the head, his tongue peeking cutely from between his teeth and lips, barely showing any more than needs to be seen, leaving the velvety heat to something of the imagination.

He licks and kisses the shaft, letting his gaze go unfocused, bringing his hands up to drift featherlike touches across the skin. Carefully, purposefully, Silver rakes his teeth across the eye as his bottom lip brushes against the more-sensitive spot just under the man’s frenulum.

Nox’s shaft at its full length is something magnificent. It is cut and neat, the head tantalizingly bulbous. Just long and thick enough to bring Silver the kind of stimulation and pleasure he enjoys.

The only problem: it has been long enough, but the only slick across its surface is from Silver’s mouth, and not a drop of precome.

Silver’s brow twitches. He drags the flat of his tongue from base to head, in what renders his other clients groaning and wanting by now. Just to make sure, he pauses at the very end, tongue outstretched, and flicks his gaze playfully up at Nox to see how he’s holding up.

Nox is leaning back against his chair, elbow propped on the armrest, a look of vague amusement in his eyes and nothing more. At meeting Silver’s gaze the man lifts his chin from his hand, slides up the sleeve of his other arm, and checks the time.

Silver’s eyes widen.

“Half an hour more, Silver Moon,” hums Nox, voice not twinged with even a single note of arousal. 

A trickle of drool runs down Silver’s chin. Does this man even feel anything at all? Silver’s jaw is beginning to ache, the cold of the floor is biting into his shins, and he hears the low bass in the background, beating out every moment that passes by.

Nox rubs at his own neck with a finger. “You know, if you’re pressed for time, you can just skip the teasing.”

That’s right. He’s in the midst of giving this man a blowjob. It’s probably the single most important blowjob he’s ever given in his life, because the reputation of the Oasis is riding on his shoulders.

And yet nothing seems to be working.

Silver pulls away, bewildered, staring at the cock in front of him. It waits patiently, barely glistening, blushing only just the slightest shade of red.

“Is something the matter, Silver Moon?”

He looks up to meet Nox’s eyes, and is surprised to see actual concern there.

Or is it just a trick?

“No,” Silver swallows, suddenly aware of his heart thumping rapidly, desperately in his chest.

“Good.” Nox perches his chin on his hand once again, reaching out with his other hand and lazily brushing Silver’s cheek with it. “Go on then.”

Silver drops his eyes, turning to nuzzle and kiss the proffered fingers. His gaze is still subtly locked on Nox’s length, but not even the gesture of pure submission does anything to spur on the man’s arousal.

Determined, he fastens his lips around it once more, this time sucking tight and wet, exploring the eye with the tip of his tongue. He brings his fists up to stroke the rest of the shaft as he pays special attention to the more sensitive head, letting drool run down the shaft. He pulls himself on and off the shaft, dipping lower on every pass, until Silver’s swallowing around him too. Silver watches for the telltale signs: a twitch of the thigh, a tilt of his hips, a stray exhale of breath, but still nothing.

Silver cheats. He lets out soft little mewls, whispering Nox’s name as if it’s a prayer more important than his own breath, switching to more guttural rolling groans when that fails. He hadn’t encountered a man like this before, with such inhuman stamina. Maybe the man has some kink that needs to be exploited before he can even start to get off, and the game has been skewed from the start. He thinks about the start of this ordeal, the man’s cock responding so beautifully to…

“Do you like getting your cock worshipped?” he moans low, eyes lidded, letting the shaft rub up against his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. They always like that, seeing him deface himself so willingly for a few golden coins. “Rubbing your big, hard cock over my face. Watching me try to force it down—”

Silver cuts himself off at the disgust that runs plainly across the man’s face.

“Just get me off,” he mutters dismissively, clearly no longer entertained. Silver blinks, unsettled and taken aback, as Nox’s gaze shifts over Silver’s shoulder to address Hilla, who hasn’t moved from her original spot. “He’s not even that good.”

Hilla growls. “Mind you, he’s our _best_.” 

“He’s _disappointing_.” Nox frowns as Silver forces himself to move again, silently now, because he doesn’t trust his voice not to break. “And yet my friend seems to have the hots for you. I can’t seem to fathom why.”

Silver doesn’t respond. He focuses all his attention on the length inside his mouth, bobbing up and down so hard that his throat will be hell in the morning. He’s given up testing the head with his tongue, because precome is something he just needs to hope for, now.

“To think he comes by here almost every day, too, and lets you dirty his blazer and his nice tailored pants.”

Silver realizes he’s clenching his fingers around the man’s calves, and forces his clammy hands to let go.

“I’m sure you know who I’m talking about.” There is a horrid, maleficent creature that lurks in the crimson depths of Nox’s eyes, one waiting for only a single crack before it’d pounce. Silver can barely muster the strength to pull himself off the man’s cock.

 _Oh_. Silver blinks, the spell momentarily broken by the tang of salt on his tongue. _Precome_.

“Time’s up,” Nox smirks, pulling back his sleeve once more to show Silver the time — five to six.

No. He still has time. He needs to make this man come. It is what he prides himself on doing, now. He cannot let this man step outside before he orgasms.

It feels so wrong, somehow.

“Wait,” Silver gasps, uselessly, as Nox stands and pats himself down. “F… five more minutes.”

Hilla steps forward, but Silver brushes away her hand on his shoulder.

“Please.” 

Nox only grants him a piteously disdainful look and shakes away his hand when Silver tries to clutch at it. 

“Please!”

The few remaining patrons look up in alarm. Most of the other hosts have left for breakfast, and it’s just the latecomers mingling about now. Silver’s chest is heaving as the muted pre-morning chatter grinds to an awkward halt. He ignores the stares with practiced ease, fixing his gaze desperately on Nox’s.

Finally, the man huffs in impatience and snaps his fingers. Silver feels the tension rush from his body. “Fine. On the table, face up. And don’t touch yourself.”

“Hey,” snarls Hilla, but doesn’t stop Silver from yanking his pants off and lying across the nearest table as Nox has instructed. “That is no way to treat an employee here.”

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t much care for whores, not like the Silver Moon’s little boyfriend.” Nox forcefully jostles Silver into position. Silver bites back a yelp as the rickety table lists and he nearly slides off. “Hold your knees up.” 

B… Boyfriend?

Silver’s eyes widen. Nox is after _him_.

“I said, _hold your knees up!”_

Nails ruthlessly dig into the soft flesh of his flaccid dick and his balls and Silver nearly bucks off the table, watery cries forcing their way out. Every movement sends a jolt of pain through him, but he tries his best, and somehow eventually manages to hoist his legs into the air and towards himself, clutching his legs and giving Nox clear entry. 

He hears the sound of plastic being torn. “Lube him up.” 

“What!” 

“Or I will fuck him dry.” 

Silver feels his ass clench in fear at the threat. He cranes his neck and sees Hilla, jaw so tight her teeth might crack, and feels her cold, slicked digits enter him. Beside her, Nox has the wrapper of a condom between his teeth, carefully rolling the rubber down his shaft. 

 _No way he’s going to let any part of his cock touch my dirty insides_ , Silver thinks, and drops his head to focus on relaxing his muscles instead. 

“That’s enough.”

Hilla’s three fingers pull out. It’s going to be a tight fit. Silver feels Nox’s hands tighten around his thighs and he only has time to remind himself to breathe, to relax or be torn, before Nox has plunged as deep as he can go. 

Silver almost feels guilty for the pleasure. He groans and groans, perfect sounds that would please anyone else immensely, but Nox only frowns and throws his hand across Silver’s face.

Silver cries out.

“Silence,” hisses the man dangerously, once Silver’s yell has warbled away to nothing but a whimper of pain, and Silver nods his acquiesce with tears in his eyes.

The thrusts have power in them, of a man in his prime teased for half an hour and yet too far from the edge to feel anything but irritation. Silver bites his tongue, wishing he had his rubber gag on, or a wrist to bite on —

 _Freud_ , he thinks, and he feels that strange, out of place surge of protectiveness rise in him again. 

“So, Silver Moon,” Nox leans over him, putting his weight into each pull and drag of his hips, and Silver can’t stop trembling where he lies. “I’d like to know a little more about you.”

Silver grips the table a little harder.

“I have my suspicions that the man I’m looking for is who the rest of Kerning City calls your lover boy.”

“I—” Silver gasps as the man rams against his prostate, sharply inhaling to quail the surge of pleasure that threatens to cut off his speech. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Nox grins, and the smile looks out of place on someone who can only bring him disaster. Silver dreads every moment of it. The man has rubber on, too, so he’s going to hold out longer than he already will. 

Far too late, Silver realizes that five minutes is an extraordinarily short time — the man clearly isn’t going to come by then. Nox is merely toying with him. And now he is exactly where Nox wanted him to be.

“It isn’t wise to lie to me, Silver Moon.” Nox purrs, with another savage slam of his cock against Silver’s sweet spot. Warmth floods him, and precome trickles down onto Silver’s stomach. “You have a little someone who asks for you all the time, don’t you? He always takes care of you, too. Makes sure you’re well and good before leaving for New Leaf City.”

Silver shakes his head no, clenching his eyes tightly shut so Nox can’t make out the truth from there.

“No? I just wanted to reconnect. I think he might be able to help me, you know. I haven’t spoken to him in years. Feared we’d lost contact.”

“I don’t have a b — _ahh!_ — b-boyfriend,” Silver grits out, a tiny keen escaping through his nose. He can’t tell. He’d rather die than tell. “Please, it’s just my job—”

The door slams open, and dawn light streams in. Nox halts abruptly, and Silver’s gaze snaps open, flicks towards the door. Framed in the half-light is a man in red.

Silver’s heart sinks.

“Hey, Silver. I was just stopping by,” a young voice calls out, and Silver almost weeps when he hears Alpha instead of who he thought it’d be. “And I saw your boyfr—”

Alpha’s voice trails off as he takes in Silver, pinned down by a strange new visitor, with a look of utter despair on his face.

“Out!” barks Hilla, and Alpha makes himself scarce at once.

“So,” Nox purrs low, dangerous, and Silver actually whimpers.

His body twitches once, twice, before starting to shiver in fear. “I… I didn’t—”

“I’m going to call the cops,” growls Hilla, even though the reds of the district don’t even patrol here any more.

Nox ignores her, fastening a ruthless iron grip around Silver’s cock and squeezing so hard that Silver can’t choke down sobs. He’s squirming now, hands letting go of his knees to grip Nox’s wrists in a vain attempt for release.

“No! P-Please—”

“I hate being lied to, Silver.” 

Another furious slam of Nox’s member against his prostate has pain and pleasure in equal part and intensity shattering the last of Silver’s composure. Tears slip down his cheeks. One of Silver’s legs jolt up as he arches vainly, his body trying instinctively to reposition itself into a place of less hurt.

“You are going to tell me if you’ve seen the man I’m after, or I will crush your pitiful dick right here.” 

Silver throws his head back, letting out a garbled cry.

“What’s that?”

_Please. Please please don’t hurt me any more I’ll tell I’ll tell—_

Nox lets go, and Silver collapses on the table in relief, sobbing and dry heaving at once.

He’s too weak. He’s too useless for any of this.

A finger twitches in warning against his shaft, and Silver cracks his eyes open, blinking away tears. “I… Please… please d-don’t hurt him.”

Nox tilts his head, studying him like he’s just a caged animal, and he can’t understand a word that Silver is trying to say.

There is no other way out of this. Silver has no choice. Surely he’ll understand, right? There’ll be time to get to him and give him enough warning about this man called Nox. He’ll be able to warn him if he runs and doesn’t stop. 

“I’m waiting,” growls Nox. 

Silver grinds his jaws so hard his head pounds, hating himself for everything he’s going to say.

“… Eckhart."

Nox’s expression falters. 

“Please. _Please_ don’t h-hurt him,” Silver babbles, a hand weakly touching Nox’s, so afraid that he’ll get beaten for the contact now that he’s more lucid. “He’s a good guy. He’s just a businessman, I don’t know why you—” 

Nox pulls out. Silver gasps at the sudden emptiness, entrance clenching involuntarily in the cold. He struggles to sit up and props himself up just in time to see Nox peel the condom and toss it without watching where it lands.

The man draws his sleeve back with a finger, clicking his tongue at the time. He grabs some sheets of tissue out one of the boxes slotted under the couches and wipes himself off. Silver can’t take his eyes off the discarded condom that lies, rapidly cooling, on the mucky floor. The tip is full of come.

“It would be so much fucking easier if you told us his name,” Hilla snarls, quickly putting herself between Silver and Nox.

“You know… business.” Nox taps his chin calmly. “Private and confidential. I can’t disclose information myself. Apologies.”

“Well, you got what you want. Get out of my establishment and don’t come back.”

Nox laughs, quickly doing up his pants and making for the door. “It’s been a pleasure.”

The door swings open, and shut, and then there is only silence.

Silver’s knees threaten to give way. He leans heavily against the table for support, hand trembling. The other guests have made themselves scarce, and it’s only him and Hilla left behind. He is empty, wrecked, and he doesn’t know what to do, whether he still wants to come, he can’t even bring himself to check if his length is bleeding.

He thinks about Nox, and then thinks about Freud, and then about… Eckhart, whom he had thrown under the bus because of his insignificant, worthless crush.

He buries his face in his hands. “What have I done?” he croaks, and though he feels pressure behind his eyes, this time the tears don’t come.

Hilla gently pries one of his hands away. She’d finished her brief look-over and doesn’t have anything to comment, which is probably a good sign. Silver can’t meet her eyes. He lets her guide him to the couch, slumping there without resistance. He waits for some lecture, about what he should’ve done and what he shouldn’t have, but the only thing he receives is a cold glass of water pressed to his hand.

“Drink.”

He takes the cup from Hilla with a tiny, broken smile of gratitude. Her gaze is stormy, and he can’t hold that for too long, either, though it somehow calms him down.

He is about to drink when the Employees Only door creaks open, and Alpha edges into view, looking sufficiently admonished and twice as harassed.

“Bad time, huh?”

The cup slips from Silver’s hand onto the couch, and he jolts up, ignoring stabbing pains shooting through him and the splatter of water as it spills all over the upholstery. 

“You saw him,” he gasps. “You saw him, didn’t you?”

Hilla grips his wrist. This time he doesn’t shake her off. “You said you’d let him go.”

“I…” Silver falters.

Alpha steps forward into the light, peering out the window just to check that nobody is overhearing. “I think someone should go check on him,” he murmurs with concern. “He’s in a bit of trouble.”

It isn’t possible for his heart to be wrung out by words alone, but it’s happening. Silver has to take a deep shaky breath to fight back the impending panic.

Urgently, he turns to Hilla. As if seeking approval, he realises.

His boss merely rolls her eyes and lets go of his wrist, and the overwhelming relief and gratitude nearly brings those tears to his eyes.

“Why didn’t you fix the problem then?” she snaps at Alpha, who scratches his head sheepishly.

“I tried. I got decked,” he admits, and Silver finally notices the darkening bruise on his cheek. “He was asking for you specifically, Silver.” 

Silver feels his throat clench. 

“Where?”

Minutes later he is dressed again, ointment on some of his sore spots, fed and watered, and armed with the address. Silver sneaks out the back door while Hilla and Alpha keep watch, and he sees Hilla waving him good luck from the second floor window.

Silver turns away from New Leaf City, towards the heart of Kerning, and runs.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it isn't clear, Nox is my headcanon name for the Black Mage. I based him off his appearance in the Kinesis animated storyline (that you can watch [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PIyPpCXgh-4)).


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, thanks to Tab for the beta and Kure for helping with those pesky last few paragraphs :d

Dawn in Kerning City is humbling. It is not grandiose like in New Leaf, where gaudy ochre is thrown off one sleek surface and onto another, cheap repetitions of the same color aimlessly passed around with nowhere to go but down. Kerning City is a city of scrooges, where nothing goes to waste, not even scraps of food or things left for dead, or even the faintest hues of color that break through the overcast sky. Whatever little light manages to touch the city is consumed, its energy never lost; old brick seeming to glow at the sky's gentle prodding. Faded walls and empty, glassless windows reveal secrets, show cracks in the cement like paused lightning or musty old furniture that tell stories of times long gone. The rust on the cranes disappears when it is framed by the ochre sky and all at once the city is both past and future. Unfinished skyscrapers stand hope of bursting from their scaffolds, and the ruins of Kerning echo the glory of their former selves, as love and life fill the streets once more.

The man known as the Silver Moon pauses to get his bearings, his breath pulling misty swirls in the morning chill. He is a silhouette with one hand on a crumbling wall, his hair shifting slightly in the breeze, and his eyes are turned up to the sky. He is the only one out on the streets at this time, when the dark of night takes back its cover and when light dispels the shadows, and so is the only one watching the color trickle in from the sky.

The sight soothes a wounded thing inside him, and it suddenly dawns on him that he doesn't hate this place. He is more mistakes than he will ever have the courage to admit, and has failed one too many times. And yet he is here, watching one of Kerning City's finest sights, his back protected by the one place where he will not come to harm, as he seizes the second chance he's been given to fight for what he wants.

He realises, surprising even himself, that there is a certain antiquated beauty even in things resigned to failure.

 _Ah_ , he thinks, as he takes another deep breath and continues down another alleyway, _maybe this is why Freud's here when he could be anywhere in the world._

 

 

* * *

 

 

Kerning’s inner city is where the end began. Silver has heard many things about the inner city. Contractors going bust, a particularly vicious underground mafia, a wild group of arsonists, drug runners, crooked government officials — just as nobody has gotten ahold of the inner city of the present, nobody has gotten ahold of its past. But it doesn’t matter. Exposed, tarnished steel brackets bleed rust onto the concrete below, and the roads have long given way to uneven concrete collecting mucky, oil-slicked puddles so opaque Silver cannot see the ground beneath. Faded tarp is still stretched across skeletal iron and wood frames, and these are the only hints of what greatness had been planned. Not even its name remains: Kerning’s inner city district used to have one, but everyone merely calls it the Construction Site now: a thing of construction infinitely paused, dreams given up and left for naught.

Yet, there are signs of life. Doors or extra walls made of shiny zinc, metal that has yet to bear the test of weather and time. Fresh graffiti, outlines not smudged by rain, pinks not turned sickly yellow from the sun. Walking now, so as not to attract unwanted attention, he passes a wall painted black, and for a moment it feels like night has fallen again. It is the wall of an old, abandoned warehouse, its roof half taken off by the wind, and there is a single image that dominates the entire surface.

He looks up to take it in. It is a single skull with two horns, wickedly serrated, curling upwards to frame inky tongues of fire. Most stunning are its eyes, narrowed and empty but somehow piercing, as a gaping maw hangs open, lined with viciously curved teeth. The monster’s skull is covered entirely in strange, swirling marks, almost like runes that Silver finds just the slightest bit familiar, though nothing comes to mind. It is caught in a fearsome roar, breathing fumes the same color of a deep bruise. Though it doesn’t make him wince, it forces him to take a step backward, as though the painted smoke curling across the pavement will consume him whole if he isn’t careful.

He looks up again when the light shifts just a fraction, almost expecting the monster to have moved. It turns out to be a pair of silhouettes sitting on the roof that duck out of sight. He is being watched.

Calmly, he turns and continues on his way, ears pricked. How Freud managed to tread this far in is beyond him. Even Silver makes it a point to give this district a wide berth. But it’s here at last. The carcass of an animal, sprawled out on the ground. A rat, the trap still clenched around its neck.

“What were you even doing there?” Hilla had asked Alpha, as Silver forced down a sandwich under her unforgiving gaze, “You know how contested that area is.”

“I was running an errand.” Alpha sniffed as he rubbed his nose. “Belle wanted to go but she knew better, I guess.”

“And you decided to stop for some drinks and idle chit chat.”

“I was thirsty! And the rat was out! I couldn’t pass the rat up!”

“You’ll get yourself killed.” Hilla had cast a very pointed look at Silver, who just shrugged. “And it’s not like the beer on rat days is all that good anyway. I much prefer dog days.”

“Poor taste.”

When asked, Silver admitted that he’d never tried their beer, and they’d given him the dirtiest looks he had received in his entire life.

Said rat’s nose now points to the space between two cracking pillars. Silver takes a moment to calm himself before heading down the stairs, he hears before he sees the old pub called _Carrion’s Breath_.

Actually, he hears Freud’s drunken slur first, over the sound of breaking bottles and toppling chairs. “… disgrace, you couldn’t even hope to compare—”

He flies down the last few steps when a gruff voice bellows, “You fucker, think you’re all that great because you’re not from around here? I’ll fucking gut you and —” he throws his body weight into a kick that shatters the lock, and slams the door open.

The entire pub falls silent as he strides in. He quickly takes it in. Thirteen men (an unlucky number, but what can he do) in the yellow light, a frazzled bartender, blood on the ground, a knife in someone’s hand, and Freud’s collar crushed in the fist of the leader. Freud’s lip is bleeding. His shirt is torn, his tie crooked. His wrists are locked feebly around the man’s grip, his legs are twitching, he can’t breathe.

The leader’s leaning to the left, his right knee bent and not taking weight. Shitty dragon T-shirt, shitty jeans. Teeth stained, one missing. Strange red scarring on the right side of his neck. The shape of a gun in his pocket. A bullet wound in his right shoulder.

 “Who the fuck—”

Silver surges forward. Two steps to the left, going for the non-dominant arm, his own fingers tight, wrist locked, his knuckles slam like a slingshot into the nerve under the man’s tricep. The man drops Freud with a roar. _Faster_ , Silver thinks. He smashes the heel of his foot into the man’s left kneecap, hooks the man’s buckling leg with his ankle and sweeps his weight out from under him before the man even hits the ground.

Another one from behind. Silver catches the bottle flung his way, shatters it over the head of the one rushing him, chucks the shattered bottleneck at a third who makes a lucky catch that tears the guy’s lips.

It’s all incoherent, wordless shouting, but Silver is calm. His eyes are lidded and it feels like he’s back home, on the spire of a limestone tower, meditating in the light of the full moon. _Faster_. The one wearing the dragon T-shirt reaches out for Freud, but Silver puts one leg over Freud’s comatose form and kicks the bullet wound in the man’s shoulder so hard he falls flat on his back.

A jackknife. Silver twists the hand of its holder, drags the man close. _Alcohol breath, stubble, fat along his arms, terror in his eyes, tattered jacket, and down: another knife._ He yanks the badly concealed weapon from the man’s belt, shoves him against the leader on the ground.

He flicks the blade up, hears a click, but it’s snapped, the remaining blade too short to grievously wound. _Faster…!_ He slams the butt of the knife against another man, doesn’t watch him fall.

Someone parries the swinging movement of his hands. _Tall, muscular, no wounds anywhere._ A block with Silver’s left arm, a swing with his right. It unbalances his attacker, but he quickly recovers and lunges again. _Good form_. Silver leans out of an uppercut and lets the cross connect with his shoulder, biting back a grunt as he goes for the unprotected ribcage with the butt of the knife. _But hasty_. The man falls.

Silver turns when he hears a screech. A chair? Someone is picking up a wooden stool. _Pink tattoos, shirtless, no wounds._ He bites back an amused smile, only to suddenly feel his head yanked back. Someone’s pulling his hair.

He'd just known growing it out for the Oasis would be a bad idea.

He doesn’t give them the satisfaction of hearing him swear. Instead he leans forward, keeps his center of gravity between his feet — above Freud — pulls his hair taut, bites back the pain, and slashes behind him with his knife. Not all his hair goes, though his attacker’s grip falters when Silver resists his pull.

The tattooed one moves to slam the stool against his legs first, and Silver barely twists out of the way of the wooden legs. He tosses the knife to grip the horizontal bar between the chair legs, his arms trapped awkwardly in the confines of the stool. The one with the jackknife is creeping forward, eyes on Freud, as Tattoos grins at him in triumph.

_No. I will not lose something I love again._

He tugs the chair to him, leaning back and lifting his foot off the ground. Tattoos staggers forward and Silver hurls both their body weights around, sending them both against the attacker behind him. He yanks the stool from the man’s grip, uses it to force himself to his feet, and slams a leg against Jackknife’s head, knocking him out.

He regains his position, legs spread and guarding Freud, and throws the chair at the leader so hard it splinters. The man slumps, stunned, hand dropping down from where he’d been struggling to pull the gun from his pockets.

Silver lets out a breath, retaking his perch on his limestone pillar, and extends one hand — fingers tight and flat, wrist locked — for the next attacker.

“Y-You’re the Silver Moon,” one of them stutters, and he puts his hands up when Silver turns to glance at him.

None come. They’re watching him with trepidation. One lowers his knife, and then the rest let their weapons fall.

Oh? Seems like his namesake’s going to give him a free pass. Silver doesn’t particularly like the idea of that, because it means a lot of nasty things have been said behind his back, but he’s only thankful right now.

“Yes.”

“What do you want,” croaks the leader from the ground, and Silver turns his head minutely just to keep him in the corner of his vision.

“This man,” Silver says, tilting his head to indicate Freud, tone as even as he can manage, “Why are you after him?”

The leader spits out a tooth. “Are you fucking kidding me?” His mouth is full of blood. All around, bodies are starting to stir, groaning in pain. “He fucking barged in here and started dissing for no reason. I ain’t sitting around and watching some New Leaf hotshot wannabe talk shit about me. You know how they fucking are.”

“Good,” Silver replies instead, bending to retrieve Freud’s form from the ground. He pulls the man’s arms over his shoulders before hoisting him up into piggyback. “Don’t ever go near him again. He’s mine.”

At that moment, Freud whimpers and grips his neck tighter.

“Put him back where he fucking came from,” growls the man.

Freud squirms again, and Silver has to pause to shift Freud back into position. “Phantom, I don’t feel so good—” and with a guttural moan Freud empties the contents of his stomach onto the tangle of bodies below.

Despite himself, Silver doesn’t fight back a smile as more groans rise, and meets the leader’s eyes just long enough to take in his puke-stained expression.

 “With pleasure.”

Silver steps over the bodies with extreme care. He passes the bartender who quails and goes even paler. The poor redhead is shaking where he stands — it’s Alex, the boy with the bad stamina and even worse manners. Recognition dawns, and almost in response, the boy’s lips go into a thin line and he shakes his head minutely. Silver realises that if one of those gangsters were to know where Alex’d come from…

He shifts his weight and reaches out for an abandoned glass on the counter, just to drag out the moment and watch Alex squirm. The glass is scratched, but its contents are still untainted.

“Rat?”

Alex blinks, uncomprehendingly, but jerks his head yes.

Silver drinks, gives Alex a knowing look that nearly has the boy fainting, and then gently sets the glass down.

“Not bad, but I’ve tasted better.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Silver makes it back to the safety of his usual district without incident, though Freud shifts every few minutes in discomfort, and he realises that Freud… actually feels a lot warmer than he should. He can’t make out what’s wrong, though he’s quite sure hangovers don’t make one feel this way.

He debates bringing Freud back to the Oasis where he and the other employees can keep an eye on him, but that wouldn’t be wise at all. Nox might come back — the thought chills him — and there’s no way of hiding or protecting Freud once Nox’s other lackeys swarm the place.

With a sigh, he stops walking. The Oasis is just two blocks down, but going there isn’t an option any more.

He glances over his shoulder for a long while, holding his breath, scanning the buildings for signs that he’s being watched, but there’s none. Good. He makes it safely to the canal, the bridge spanning the gap tantalizing in the noon sun. But Nox had been so invested in Freud, so there will surely be eyes waiting to intercept them along the way. The last thing Silver wants is to be caught off guard, when he’s no longer in top form, and carrying a comatose Freud on his back.

 Freud had dragged him across with so little hesitation that just remembering it makes Silver’s heart swell and the side of his lips twitch up just a fraction. Almost on cue, Freud lets out some incoherent mumble and buries his nose and mouth in the crook of Silver’s neck.

Silver really doesn’t need this right now.

Hurriedly, he turns and threads back into Kerning City, thankful he hadn’t broken past the last line of buildings. It’s going to smell rancid and be utterly uncomfortable in the sewers, but at least nobody will be around to remind him of the heat in his cheeks.

“Damn it, Freud,” mutters Silver.

The man only hums sleepily, uncomprehendingly, in reply.

As expected, the sewers are awful. Silver had used one of the construction lifts heading down into an unfinished sewer. It’s dry, thankfully, since there hasn’t been rain for a while.

He regrets thinking that he doesn’t dislike Kerning City, because he definitely loathes the sewers. There are no rats, because there’s no food, only an endless cacophony of drops in the distance, from leaky pipes or oil that has seeped in through faulty roofing. It’s a miracle this place hasn’t caved in on itself yet.

A fork in the sewers soon comes up. It’s almost too dark to see because the fluorescent lamps are long past expiry, but it’s just enough to make out trickling water heading down, and another path sloping towards the opposite direction.

Silver turns and takes the high path, coming to a halt when he comes to a metal shutter as wide as it is long. He chooses the cleanest spot and sets Freud down, noting how he has to disentangle Freud’s fingers from curl around his sleeve. He sets his ear to the metal grate, listening carefully for the slightest vibrations.

Ah, there it is. He’ll have to wait for it to pass then.

Silver heads back over to Freud and sits, contemplating briefly. He’s committed a million sins by now, what’s just one more? He’s greedy, selfish, so needy and wanting. Here in these dirty sewers, surely not a single god is here to watch him fall.

It doesn’t take much more to pull Freud so the man’s head is resting against his shoulder.

Freud’s hair smells, to put it nicely, awful. And that’s saying something, since they’re in the sewers right now. The man is sweaty, bloodied, his shirt stained with vomit and booze (actually, there’s a puke stain on Silver’s shirt too, now that he thinks to check). The man’s face is slack now, but as they were making their way out of the Construction Site, Silver was sure his expression had been twisted up something fierce.

Freud’s brow creases at the sound of approaching thunder and the screech of metal on metal. Carefully, Silver brushes stray flecks of dirt from Freud’s cheek, murmuring calmly, “It’s just the subway, Freud. It’s fine, see?”

There’s a whine and a shriek when dust is shaken from the ceiling. Silver sighs but doesn’t mind twining his fingers with Freud’s. For comfort, he tells himself, only for comfort. Still, he smiles when Freud squeezes back in worry. “It’s fine. It’ll pass soon.”

It’s loud and unbearable, but it’s gone before long, rattling and groaning its way into the distance. Silver gets up, retrieving his hand from Freud’s loose grip, and heads over to the grate. He hoists it open, shifting it to hear the telltale _clang_ of metal latching and holding its place.

“Come on, Freud.”

It’s quick work to get Freud across and set him just beyond the subway tracks, lower the shutter, and continue on. This stretch of the subway is well lit at least, empty crates lining the sides of the tracks, broken lamps hanging from their wires.

How such a shitty subway leads to the heart of New Leaf City, Silver can never imagine.

There are, as expected, tales and stories that encircle this place. Silver mutters them to Freud even though he can’t hear it. Tales of wraiths that float in the darkness, their forms nothing more than white silk covering a pair of gaping eyes. Tales of a lost little girl called Shumi who had dropped a coin in the sewers and gone in to retrieve it, but never returned, and sometimes if the night is still enough, one can hear her sobbing in frustration, waiting for unsuspecting travellers to pass so she might ask for their help —

Silver infers that Freud doesn’t like Shumi’s story very much, because the silent man lets out a broken little groan before Silver can even finish. “… She did get her coin back in the end,” Silver reaches around to pat Freud’s hair softly. He isn’t a writer, but fairytales are always better than horror. “She used it to buy a bunch of candy from Hwang, who rips her off. He rips everyone off. But she gets cheap taffy that tastes a little bit like the one her mom used to make, so she’s not too sad any more.”

Freud doesn’t reply, so it’s probably all good.

They walk for a while more before Silver takes a turn away from the main station and through another narrow tunnel. He’s not going to risk walking out from the main subway, not when they’re both in such an awful state and where unwanted eyes may be waiting.

Carefully, he hauls them both up a ladder with one hand on the rungs, one hand around Freud’s waist, and very careful steps, popping the manhole cover and emerging into the sunlight above.

They’re behind New Leaf Mall. He makes short work of the last stretch to Freud’s place, keeping to the alleyways, and comes to Freud’s condominium.

Thankfully, it’s late afternoon, and everyone’s out working or out of the heat, so nobody stops him from entering. It’s a brief struggle using Freud’s thumb to unlock the gates and work the lift back to his place, but he manages.

The door swings open, and for a moment Silver thinks he’s stepped into the wrong apartment.

Nothing is in the right place. Fragments of glass line the kitchen floor, and Freud’s sink and trashcan full to overflowing with half empty wine bottles. Chairs are upturned, books strewn across the couch, clothes scattered on every available surface. The entire house smells like alcohol and puke, the musty smells trapped within locked windows.

On the ground beside the crooked television, a frame with a grinning redhead and his playful blonde friend lies cracked on the ground.

Silver packs away unwanted thoughts, quickly pushes himself into motion, heading into the bathroom. Another wreck. There’s glass here too, a broken mirror, soaps and tubes flung at random, and the bathtub is full of cold, grey water.

Even Freud’s own room is a disaster. There isn’t even anywhere clean to put the man down, and Silver’s arms are aching.

He’s about to settle for laying the man across the couch, which has seen the least spills and stains, when he glances into Evan’s room.

Nothing seems to have been touched, not even Evan’s uncapped marker left to dry beside the whiteboard. The sight wrings out Silver’s heart.

_He really loves you most, Evan._

“Sorry for intruding,” he mutters, carefully laying Freud into the boy’s bed. It’s too small for him and the man’s feet hang off the bottom, but at least it’s clean. He can clean up the sheets again later.

After a brief fight with the filled sink and a heater too complicated for what’s necessary (Nothing works except when he turns it to the mysterious dial of 9, but whatever gets the hot water out), he fills the biggest clean saucepan with warm water (all the buckets have some form of trash in them) and carries it to Evan’s room to wipe away the grime on Freud’s skin.

He works gently, but efficiently, carefully unfastening the buttons of Freud’s shirt without shame or guilt, because he knows the last thing Freud will want is any of that. As best as he can, he wipes Freud’s torso down and slips on a fresh top (cotton, well-worn, with the words _My wife went to Ludibrium and all I got was this T-Shirt!_ ). He hesitates just a fraction, decides Freud’s pants are clean enough, and just covers him up with Evan’s down blanket.

He’s in the midst of cleaning up the house when it occurs to him that Freud had felt far too warm for comfort earlier. Hurriedly, he drops the stack of books and rummages in Freud’s bathroom for a thermometer. Having found one, he slips it under Freud’s tongue as best as he can.

The temperature climbs. Silver realises that the man has broken out into cold sweat again, his lips turning pale. He gives the man another lookover, but he isn’t sure if it’s just his imagination that Freud looks a little thinner, a little paler, from when they’d met before.

 _40C_. Silver bites back a swear and digs out the saucepan again, filling it with cool water this time, and setting Evan’s clean handkerchief across the man’s head. Then he upturns all the drawers in the kitchen until he finds the medicine box, digs out a couple pills of asprin, dissolves them in some water and carefully feeds the mixture to Freud one slow sip at a time.

Other than the instinctive bob of his throat at Silver’s gentle coaxing, Freud doesn’t even stir.

Silver is seized with an urge.

He’s committed a million sins by now, he tells himself, what’s just one more? He’s greedy, and selfish, and oh, how he wishes all of _this_ is because of him.

Here in this wrecked apartment, the only god here to witness his fall is unconscious, burning up with fever, and too far gone to feel anything at all.

Silver stands and lets his eyes flutter shut as he so, so carefully places what he knows is his first and last kiss across Freud’s lips.

Then he straightens and leaves the room to start putting Freud’s life back into place.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It is nightfall when Silver finally makes it back to the Oasis. He’s tired and worn, muscles aching in ways he hadn’t ever believed possible even given the nature of his work. How can anyone own that many books? There wasn’t even enough space for Silver to pack them all back in. He just had to leave a stack of them beside the couch for when he figures out where they ought to go.

There’s a bowl of vegetable broth in the microwave, a cup of tea and more medicine on Evan’s bedside table, and a proper bucket there just in case. Freud should be alright for now.

He can’t stop his thoughts from wandering. Nox and Freud, connected? Old ‘friends’? Freud hadn’t once mentioned the man, not even in passing. And Freud doesn’t seem the kind to keep secrets from those he cares about.

Silver thinks about Freud’s office, and the crack in the closet door.

_But… then again…_

It’s clear, though, that Nox isn’t sure what Freud’s doing now. Hadn’t Freud mentioned that he was head of a publishing company? What was it again… _Leafre_ , that’s right. That shouldn’t be too difficult to track.

Yet Nox was forced to wheedle information from Silver, of all people. Silver, a man who’d arrived in Kerning less than years ago, though it’s felt like forever. Nox must have been at his wit’s end if he’d stooped that low.

There surely has to be more than what Freud’s letting on.

Someone comes into his field of vision, and then stops. Silver looks up, instantly on guard. Anything can happen here in Kerning City.

Like mistakes come back to haunt.

Eckhart’s gaze is ice cold. His disappointment is unmistakable. The breath freezes in Silver’s throat, and no words come. He wants to explain, to apologise, and to beg for forgiveness all at once, but he’s rooted to the spot and he can’t seem to breathe right.

“I was hoping for a scene tonight,” Eckhart says, very carefully.

Silver bites his lip to stop his worthless excuses from spilling out onto the streets.

The man continues, after a brief pause, “It appears you have missed me.”

“I…” Silver grinds his jaws. “I…”

Eckhart breaks his gaze to smooth out a crease in his blazer. Silver’s fists are clenched tight by his sides. He wants a scene. He wants a scene with Eckhart. He wants a scene so he can drop to his knees and ask for punishment and feel like maybe he’s worth being forgiven one last time.

“Please,” is all he manages, the lone syllable strained and broken in the silence.

Eckhart straightens his clothes, dark eyes now as unreadable as the night sky. For a moment Silver thinks he’s going to change his mind and lead him back to the Oasis, but the man merely shakes his head no.

Silver feels a small part of him break.

“It’s not like that,” Eckhart murmurs, voice only just carrying through the air. “How much did you tell him?”

“Only your name,” Silver insists, and then falters. “Your… name. And that you were a businessman in New Leaf.”

Eckhart doesn’t look convinced.

“I swear! Just once more. I’ll… I’ll make it up to you.”

He swallows hard as he’s studied, turned inside out by the man’s piercing gaze. He never realised how _sharp_ Eckhart is, even dressed in a casual leather jacket and jeans, the man feels like a knife’s edge pressed against skin, poised to cut but only just holding back.

Abruptly, the man glances over his shoulder and it is so uncharacteristic of him that Silver is momentarily stunned.

“Go back where you came from,” Eckhart murmurs, his gaze hard.

Silver’s eyes widen. Surely Eckhart hadn’t heard about Silver’s betrayal from the horse’s mouth. It hasn’t even been a full day.

“And stay there until tomorrow.”

But it seems like he has.

“He…?” Silver chokes out, a chill searing through him so fiercely that it hurts.

Eckhart’s gaze doesn’t falter.

Silver can barely take it in. Nox is back, but Silver isn’t there to placate him. Would that have sent the wrong message? That Silver had absconded with Nox’s prey? That Nox was right, after all, and Freud was around here somewhere just waiting for Nox to sniff him out?

Silver _needs_ to go back to the Oasis.

He takes a shaky step forward, followed by another, and another. _Faster_ , he thinks, but his body doesn’t respond. He’s only just about to break into a staggering run when Eckhart snakes his hand out to hold his wrist tight, and Silver sees only fury in Eckhart’s expression.

“You’ll only make it worse.”

The man’s voice pulls forth some familiar resolution from deep inside him, a place that Silver had thought lost forever, and Silver frees himself with a deft twist of his arm. His mind is suddenly clear again. “Don’t stop me.”

The snarl in Eckhart's words stops Silver in his tracks. "Do you know what you're up against, Silver?" 

Silver grits his teeth, because no, he hasn't the slightest clue. Eckhart's gaze is stormy, his brow fiercely furrowed. Angry.

"Take it from me, Silver. It's not something you want to get mixed up in. Not even for the Oasis"

"The Oasis is my _home_ ," Silver hisses. "I'll fight Nox for it."

"I'm telling you now because I've grown to care about you. But you need to forget the Oasis and get out of here." The man steps forward to face him straight on, but stays out of Silver's personal space. "So you do know his name at least. Strange, he didn't shoot you, or scar you." A pause. Silver bristles. "Hm? I can't believe he touched you."

Silver feels his own anger flare. "So what?"

"It means that you're special, Silver. It means that the Oasis is special, and he's staked his name on it."

"Then I'm _already_ mixed up in this." Silver sidesteps to run past Eckhart, but the man is surprisingly quick and darts forward, crowding against Silver. The man is only slightly taller than him, but his presence is so much bigger. 

"Listen, Silver!" Eckhart's voice holds real menace now, and Silver wonders briefly if he should not be associating with this man, because someone who knows Nox so well cannot be good company — "Nox doens't like getting his hands dirty, but that doesn't stop him from getting what he wants. He's taken cities whole and he can do it again."

"What is he, a wizard? People have tried to take Kerning and they all failed." Silver notices his voice is raised, his chest is heaving, and carefully takes a long breath to calm himself. His voice is even again when he says, "There's nothing good in here anyway."

Eckhart shakes his head. "Kerning City has not met Nox before."

"But you're right. Nox doesn't care about this place. It has no value to him. Except," Eckhart points, and Silver looks. Rising tall above the skyline, shiny office blocks and polished windows gleam, lit from the inside, like glowing souls. "A free ticket into into New Leaf. And once he gets to the top, he'll leave this place to ruin." 

A few weeks ago, Silver knows he would've simply lowered his head and ran. He knows he wouldn't have the spine, or the determination to go head to head with something so obviously threatening. He doesn't deal well with loss or defeat, and probably still can't handle it now.

But loss is promised if he turns and runs.

 _Do you know who I am?_ he wants to ask, but the words trip over themselves on the way out, and he settles for a gentle murmur, "I am the Silver Moon."

"The one who broke," Eckhart continues scathingly. 

"That's right." Silver lets himself smile, and some of the fury fades from Eckhart's expression. "The Silver Moon broke, but I am more than that." 

Eckhart closes his eyes. "It's not nice being used as an example when I was the scapegoat, Silver Moon."

"But he believed me." Silver says, and he is telling the truth now. Eckhart doesn't move when Silver circles around him to continue walking. "And if anyone can 'save' Kerning City, it will be me. The double crosser."

"Well, aren't you a noble one." Eckhart snorts, but Silver doesn't reply. "I would offer you my assistance, but I fear you'll let me down again."

"I won't, because I don't need your help. I appreciate it."

Without any more hesitation he sprints for the Oasis. The buildings are just a blur around him, shadows that mean absolutely nothing. He made the resolution earlier, that he's going to fight for what he wants, and he intends to do just that. Maybe he's grown weak by letting things into his life again. But now that it's happened, he's not going to let it go to waste. 

He's not the same person he was before. Silver is trying, he's trying so hard, but he wants to be a person that is worthy. 

Even if it's never reciprocated, and Freud never even acknowledges his feelings in return.

He takes a shortcut through the alleyways, leaping over old crates and sneaking through holes in broken fences, until he sees the familiar packed earth and the bags of trash spilling out from rusty cans. There’s no music playing at all, and the lights aren’t on. The building looks dilapidated, almost, if not for Lotus suddenly opening the _Employees Only_ door.

Wrath simmers in Lotus’ eyes, so carnal and raw that Silver halts in his tracks.

Their gazes meet.

Lotus snarls low, eyes narrowing. “What are you doing here?”

“Showing up for work,” Silver shoots back. He ignores the thrum of disdain pulling the boy’s voice taut, pulls himself to his full height. “Move aside and let me in.”

Then, Lotus smiles. The sudden, cruel twist of his lips is not something Silver is expecting, not when Lotus had seemed ready to destroy a man where he stood just moments ago.

“You’ve made enough mistakes here,” Lotus’ smile grows. “And bringing _him_ here is the last you’ll ever make.”

A short laugh accompanies the disdain slathered across his words, and Silver feels the resolution leak from his body as Lotus pulls the door shut.

“Oh,” Lotus sticks his head out the crack in the door and grins, “If it’s not clear enough, everyone’s pissed because you fucked up so bad. You should go back to your _boyfriend_ , maybe he'll keep you. Since you're at least of some use to him.”

Lotus may have said something more, but Silver doesn’t hear. He only sees Lotus’ mouth moving, voice muffled as if coming from somewhere far, far away, and a little later on, hears the sound of the door latching shut and its lock clicking into place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're reading this on Oct 8th, there's a chance I've gone back and edited some parts of the story. I want TNO to be one of my better works, so I'm making an exception to my usual 'No editing old chapters' rule.
> 
> I've edited Eckhart's conversation here with Silver so Nox's motivations are revealed rather than Eckhart being a mysterious little shit about it. If you're reading this now and Silver's conversation with Eckhart is more than just a few lines long, then good! You've gotten the right flow of the story, congratulations! 
> 
> Sorry for the inconvenience, and thank you for putting up with me. I still struggle with updating fics chapter by chapter, I have no idea how other authors do it without revising old chapters. It's incredible and also quite unimaginable. I'll do my best.


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